Aetas Umbrae
by EtherealShadow
Summary: The fight is over; but within Jak, the darkness grows, smothering the light. As it gains power, it becomes a deadly threat- not only to him, but to those he cares about most. In danger of losing himself, Jak might lose everything. Final chapter.
1. Prologue

A/N: Hello hello everyone! In honor of my buying a PS2 and Jak II, I decided to begin a multi-chapter angst drama type fic. ^_^ Well, that and I was very bored in class. So even though I haven't finished it yet (can't… get… to top… of nest… *twitches*), we're going to pretend that I have. But I know what happens! No factual errors for me… theoretically. Yes indeed. I'll shut up now. This first chapter is short 'cause it's just the prologue. There shall be much more to come! *evil cackle*

Disclaimer: No, I don't own ND or SCEA or anything… but there was a really sexy poster of Jak with half his face normal and half his face Dark Jak and I was ready to rip it off the wall of the used game store I saw it in… *drools*

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__

This city has been saved through the blessed Precursors and their mysterious magic; slowly, piece by piece, we have been able to use the general concepts that governed their power to forge the shield walls that have saved us in our own fashion. The Hora-quan have been kept at bay by the power channeled from the one natural thing that remains abundant in this world- Dark Eco.

There have been many losses so the Hora-quan over time, losses that have added up to the near destruction of our kind. Blood stains our past, and, I fear, will determine out future. The people that have fled to this city believe it to be a haven compared to their sure death in the wilderness, and so has it been named. Abandoned long, long ago, the idea of retaking this city from the Hora-quan has been a bright star of hope in a sea of shadows, and now that it has been done, the last remnants of a slowly dying race flock here, forsaking what small security they had left wherever it was that they had managed to survive all these years to return to a city that had fallen before and shall perhaps fall another time. May all the power of the Precursors combined prevent such a thing from ever happening again.

But as I walk the streets of this city, as I look into the faces of the people, their eyes shining with love for me, love for what I have done for them, for what I have become to them, I find that I can do little more than keep my throat from clogging and bitter tears from running down my face. I find that my hope for this race is failing even as we gather together and draw a collective breath, convincing ourselves that we are safe now.

We are a people in decline, forced to abandon the world that has been ours for so long in a matter of years to live in a city of dust and shadows. Oh, it will fill, and grow, of that I do not doubt, for when I look into the eyes of the people I also see, buried deep within every living soul here, the firm determination to live on. That is why they are here. That is why they have come to me, brining tattered books, old toys, clothes, anything that reminds them of the lives that we used to live. So long as we are able to keep the shield walls up, so long as we are able to fight for our existence, this world, this race, will continue its battle to survive. Such is our nature. Such is our world.

But there can be no going back now. We have changed irrevocably. As the world changes, as the land moves and the plants die and everything is torn apart, we are forced to change. We have become something new, something strange, something that scares me more than a wall of all the strongest Hora-quan staring down at me ever could.

And so I put a smile on my face and act out the role that the people of this city have thrust upon me. No matter how I feel, the people must have something to believe in or they will fail. There always must be someone for them to look to; there must always be a person that sacrifices all that they are, forsakes all of their hopes and dreams and abandons all of their own desires. For when the world is cast into shadow, it fall upon the shoulders of one. One, to be the savior of all.

~Journals of Mar, Founder of Haven City

Three weeks, Two Days after the Retaking


	2. Merry Sunshine

A/N: I changed the title, and this is hopefully what it will stay as… hopefully.  I do kind of like the title Screaming in Silence, though.  We'll see.  Oh, I finished the game!  Okay, so it did take the combined kamikaze-ing of myself and a friend to get up the nest on the jet board, but it is fun!  Now I just have to wander about getting the Orbs.  This story takes place after Jak II, by the way.  So… read on! :-)

Disclaimer: I don't own Jak or ND or anything… though I did hear a rumor that Jak III is going to be revealed at a convention in May!  May can't come fast enough! Whee! :-D

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_He was entombed in shadow.  It pressed in on him from all sides, squeezed him, absorbed him into its murky depths.  It flooded his mouth and nose, gagging him, strangling him.  Fighting the panic rising within him, he struggled to open his eyes and escape the penetrating blackness.  And when he could not open them, fear caught hold of him more strongly than being alone in the darkness ever could.  _

_He opened them, closed them, opened them again, over and over in a desperate effort to find some patch of light, some small clue that all had not been taken from him.  Finally, the realization that there simply wasn't one shred of light whatsoever by which to see dawned, and he drew deep breaths of the shadow-laden air.  _

_Dropping to all fours to avoid injuring himself on anything that may have been around him, lost in the darkness, he began to crawl blindly.  The ground disconcerted him; it felt like nothing his fingers had ever touched before.  It felt like he was crawling on nothing at all, on air that somehow managed to support him.  Only the knowledge that there was indeed something bearing his weight kept him from believing that he was falling, spiraling down into nothing._

_There was no sound, no light, no life, nothing.  Not even his movements or his breathing made noise enough to reach his ears, sharp though his hearing was.  His heart raced within his chest as he labored to keep his panic down enough that he would not fall into the trap that the shadows had lain out for him, beating strongly enough that he should have been able to hear it.  But even still, he had to press his fingers to his throat to assure himself that he still had life left within him._

_He crawled until he could go no more, until his hands and knees ached.  But he was grateful for the pain- it was the one tangible thing in this dark world that he could be sure of.  At last, he sprawled on his stomach, too weary to continue on and unable to be sure that he had gone anywhere at all.  Nothing had changed whatsoever._

_He did not know how long he laid there, motionless, face pressed down onto the cool firmness of nothing.  Time seemed to pass like it was honey through the eye of a needle; in reality, he didn't actually know that time existed in this place at all._

_And then the screaming began._

_At first he thought that he was imagining the sound.  It began, long and loud, never ceasing even for the instant that it would have taken to draw the breath to continue on.  It seemed to reverberate all around him, driving away the dark blanket that surrounded him, but at the same time attaching to him, feeding off of his life to draw strength.  It pounded at his head like the appendages of a Metalhead intent upon opening his skull and revealing its contents.  Curling up on air, he pressed his ears in a vain attempt to block out the cry that would not cease.  If anything, his actions only made it louder, for now it echoed in his own mind as well, multiplied by all the pain and anguish that he had bottled up inside of himself for the past years._

_And suddenly, there was a word within the noise, whispered for his ears only, calling his name in a voice more terrible than anything that he had ever imagined could exist. "Jak…"_

_He tried to ignore it, tried to focus on anything, anything at all other than that voice._

_"Jaaaaak… listen to me, Jaaaaaaaak…"_

_He tried to form the words, tried to force them out of his mouth.  "No!"  But though they passed his lips without problem, they made no sound to his ears._

_"Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaak…"_

_"Leave me alone!"  Again there was no sounds that he could make, not even the slightest noise dwarfed in the masiveness of the scream and voice which whispered so terrifyingly seductively in his mind, the voice which knew everything about him and knew best how to taunt him…_

"JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK!"

"NO!" Jak yelled, leaping up from beneath his blankets, sending his furry friend tumbling to the ground from his former perch upon the hero's chest.

"Geez, Jak!" the ottsel complained, staring up at him from his spot on the ground.  "If I had known you would be that hard to wake up, I would have gotten Sig in here to blast you with his Peacemaker!  Less danger to me!"

Jak made no reply, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sitting back down onto the soft mattress.  "So?" Daxter demanded.

"So what?"

"Are you coming tonight?  More townies are gonna be there, all clamoring for a look at the great hero of Haven City.  Oh, they want to se you, too!"

He simply groaned and flopped back down onto his back.  He felt uncomfortable from the nightmare that he had had, though the sunlight streaming in from around his blinds quickly chased all memory of it away.

His friend pounced upon his chest and began jumping on him until Jak finally brushed him aside and sat up, placing his feet on the floor.  Stretching and yawning, he looked around for some clean clothes with which to cover his muscular frame.  Stealing a glance at the window, which Daxter was in the process of opening so that he was blinded by the sun, the elf groaned.  "Ugh.  What time is it?"

"Time for you to get a watch!" the ottsel quipped.

Highly annoyed at being awakened only minutes after the sun had itself deigned to rise above the horizon, Jak opened his mouth to yell at the grinning face of his friend when the pocket communicator beeped insistently from its spot on his bedside table, the pattern of bleeps annoyingly recognizable.  "What do you want, Torn?" he snapped.

"Well good morning to you too, Merry Sunshine!"

"…"

"Listen, I need you and the rat to go out to the Forest and take down a few Metal Heads.  They're grouping up there, and we need to stop it before they attract even more.  Kor may be gone, but there's still a hell of a lot of the things wandering around.  The rest of the Guard have their hands full with the Metal Heads in the sewers at the moment or I'd send some of them."

He made no reply, only glared at the metal communicator, wishing that Torn could see the expression upon his groggy face.

"More Metal Head bashing, eh?" Daxter inquired as he sat atop the bed, preening his orange fur.

"Apparently."

"Well, go out there and send them running for cover!"  The ottsel grinned at him while bouncing around.

Jak looked at Daxter, who was practically stepping on his own tail as he ran around the bed, talking to himself out loud for the benefit of Jak.  "…tonight is the night that the Naughty Ottsel will go down in infamy!" At this point the ottsel stopped and struck a pose, one clenched fist sitting on his hip and a finger pointing into the sky, wide smile on his face.

Suppressing a smile and shaking his head, Jak rose, found his clothes, and proceeded to throw them on.  His battle-worn armor went over his trousers and tunic, and his jet board went to its normal spot on his back.  And his gun slipped easily into its holster, metal cool to the touch.  The hero flexed and turned, glad for the comfort of the added weight upon his light frame.  He had been uncomfortable with all the clothes and metal hanging off of him at first; but time had changed all of that, and it had gotten to the point where he felt naked without his usual effects, whether fully clothed or not.  Fingering the handle of his gun, Jak meandered downstairs into the barroom of the Naughty Ottsel, ever-faithful companion trailing along behind.  The exit slid open before him and he was about to step outside into the early morning light when he realized that the familiar weight was startlingly absent from his left shoulder.

He paused, turning to look for his friend, who was ordering Tess to polish all of the glassware within an inch of its life.  Jak hesitated a moment, then spoke, uncomfortable with how meek his voice sounded in that instant.  "Are you coming, Dax?"

His friend, however, did not seem to notice.  Swinging around, the ottsel caught sight of himself in a mirror and smoothed back the fur on top of his head as he made his reply.  "Naw, I've gotta stay and get ready for tonight!  You'll be back soon, right?"

Jak nodded mutely, then forced a smile onto his face and turned away, the door sliding soundlessly shut behind him.

Jumping onto the nearest parked zoomer, he revved the engine and immediately shot into the sky.  He went the long way to the temple, winding through the city, enjoying the feeling of the cool morning air whipping through his clothes to caress his warm skin.  But he found no enjoyment in weaving through traffic at a breakneck speed or ripping recklessly around blind corners.  The force of the air stung his eyes, his hair long hair whipped annoyingly around his head.  He missed Daxter's frequent screams of, "Jak, SLOW DOWN!" and, "DON'T HIT THAT GUARD!"  The fun had been taken from the activity that he normally enjoyed above all others.  There was something irresistible to him about slamming on the gas and flying through the air, abandoning the confinement of the ground to risk death while racing the wind.  But the weight upon his shoulder was gone, no fur tickled his face, no hot breath warmed his cheek, no tail curled around his neck, no small hands wove themselves through his waving locks, holding onto him as if he were the last strong pillar in a crumbling world.

It had been like this before, more than once.  When he had first given up hope that Daxter would come save him from the hell that had begun to consume him, the hell that pumped through his body and left a mark on his soul, he tried to let go, tried to push all memories of his friend out of his mind.  But it was of no use, and it finally reached the point where hallucinations and dreams of his friend plagued his waking mind.  And when his mind had finally cleared itself of the nightmare that had enfolded it, it was Daxter's small, fuzzy face that had dragged him out of the depths of the sea of shadows.

And when they fought, when he stormed out of the garage, he was just too furious with everything and everyone to pretend any more that he didn't care.  Everyone but him.  He had never, could never truly be angry at him.  Annoyed, sure, it happened all the time.  But never for real.  Never.

Sick of everyone expecting him to save the day, expecting him to run out every two seconds and sacrifice everything that he held dear for people who barely gave a damn if it was _their_ pitiful hides on the line, he finally told them no.  He expected Dax to come bounding along behind him, loudly demanding to know what it was that had gotten their panties in a bunch.  His heart twisted painfully when he realized that the ottsel was not following him.  His feet halted and he actually stood there in the hallway for a long time, waiting, expecting.  Finally, he had turned away, throat tight and eyes burning.

And on the race day, he had been cheering the loudest.

Only this time, there was nothing else to focus his mind on- the thrill of killing Metal Heads had worn itself out long ago.

And as he moved through the temple, as he stared out above the treetops at the forest, he was forced to admit the truth to himself.

He was terrified of being alone.


	3. Birthday

A/N: Boring classes are wonderful things, aren't they?  So anyway, here is the next installment of AE (which means "Aeon of Shadow" in theory… that's as close as I could figure).  I don't have anything else to say, for once.  Well, other than that deviantART is evil and won't send me my confirmation e-mail, but that's about it. XD

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

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Jak groaned to himself when the first few shots zipped over his head, smashing harmlessly into the rocks behind him, sending shards of sharp stone flying all over the place.  The invisible Metal Heads were really no fun at all.  Killing them involved an ungodly amount of running; his eyes started hurting after a while, and it left him having to wander around aimlessly, wide open and all but begging to be shot at so he could see where the little stinkers were.  Okay, they really weren't so little.

Frowning, he got on his jet board and dropped down into the midst of the chaos on the ground, leaping over and twisting around all the monsters until he found a suitable spot from which to fire comfortably.  He as immediately set upon by the small scorpion Metal Heads, which came in waves.  He smiled, a twisted little smirk that swept up the side of his face.  Oh, how he loved his gun.

With the flick of a button, the metal in his hands twisted and writhed like a living organism; flashes of yellow sped away to strike his chosen target even as his foot came down to smash a small Metal Head into the dirt; light blue dust floated up around his head, tickling his nose as small metal casings clattered to the foliage beside him; a shockwave of energy the color of blood erupted from the weapon to race through the air and crush all those foolish enough to have approached him to attack at close range.

After kicking the carcass of a scorpion Metal Head to ensure that it was dead, Jak wandered about the wood, shooting any others that popped up.  Gradually, the normal forest sounds returned, the Metal Head bodies evaporated, and, other than the imprints of his booted feet in the soft grass, there was no sign of his passage.  Tired, he moves slowly, not wanting to expend the energy to do anything other than meander.  

Eventually, he was at the top of the forest, the place where Samos had held his conversation with the plants.  He sat top the wood that ran across the length of the ledge, looking out over the forest that reminded him so strongly of his home.  _No,_ he was forced to remind himself, over and over again.  _That's not home.  This is my home.  Not there, here.  Here, this world of cold metal and weapons that could destroy the world._

Letting himself flop back into the soft grass, Jak allowed his eyes to drift shut, weary mind and body lulled by the familiar, and very missed, sound of birds chirping merrily and the warm breeze that ruffled his clothing.  The sun blanketed him in its warm light, the grass pillowed his head, more comfortable than the synthetic materials of Haven City ever could.

No one ever came here.  He didn't know why, it was so very nice and peaceful.  All the people of the city were too wrapped up in themselves and their chaotic lives to come out here, to come see the last remaining place of peace in an otherwise corrupted world.  _Pity,_ he mused as sleep overtook him and he fell into a deep slumber.  _If only Dax was here, curled up next to me, this would be perfect… almost like home…_

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_It was the same dream, he knew it instinctively.  There was nothing different to set it apart, it was still just pitch black; but that in itself told him what he already feared.  This time, knowing that there was nothing for him but the voice, he began to run, not wanting to spend forever trapped in the murky shadows.  And perhaps if he got there, wherever there was, quickly, then he would not have so much time to think about what awaited him.  Again, his footsteps fell onto the solidity of nothing, not even the slightest sound coming from the connection._

_He ran and ran and ran, ran until his lungs burned from the effort.  The heavy air once again weighed in on him, flooding his mouth and nostrils, waiting for him to stop fighting so that it could take him._

_His foot suddenly slipped out from underneath him.  He knew he was falling, knew that he had to stop himself, but his wildly grasping hands were unable to take hold of anything but the darkness that flowed through his fingers like thick honey.  He fell far, way down, not stopping until he suddenly hit a cushion of darkness deeper even than before.  It as strong here, down in its home, strong enough to gain enough substance to hold him suspended in its depths.  But even still, there was nothing there with even the slightest bit of solidity._

_The screaming was back again, just the same as before.  So was the voice calling his name.  Part of him wanted to heed the call, wanted to give in to its seductive voice and give himself to it.  Only this time, he felt someone there, some form of life, a corrupted, twisted being that surrounded him as he looked around in a futile effort to find enough light with which to view the unseen watcher._

_And then the terrifyingly delicious voice was right in his ear, inhuman breath devoid of warmth chilling his face and heart alike._

_The screaming suddenly stopped._

_And there was light, if it could truly be defined as such; slowly growing steadier, in the darkness of the deepest night of the normal world, it could not have been seen.  But here, within the very heart of shadow itself, it provided enough illumination to see at least a few inches into the murk.  A pair of dark black eyes loomed into view, glittering as they absorbed what "light" there was, triumphant as they bore into his own to drink in his soul.  A hand like ice reached out to caress his face, pure coldness seeping from the being's long fingers to bite into his skin and hook itself into his bones._

_The hand suddenly gripped his chin, nails digging into his flesh and breaking through his skin.  "Soon," the voice promised, deadly in its intent.  "Soon."_

_Pure terror flooded over him in waves and he struggled violently to get away from whatever it was that had him bound.  He pulled and tugged at the firm hand, finally pulling away, and cowered away from the thing before him.  He didn't need to see the being's face.  He knew what it was._

_He knew._

_His wildly beating heart thumped loudly in the darkness, the only other sound besides his ragged breathing and the cruel laughter of the creature.  It reached out to take him again, to wrap him in its darkness and enfold him into itself, to absorb him until there was nothing left but the echo of his screams in the halls of eternity._

_He felt it there within him, creeping through his bloodstream until it reached his heart, whereupon it wormed its way down into his soul, taking everything from him.  The pair of eyes moved closer, closer, the face that he had been expecting coming into view, so very, very familiar…_

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Jak woke with a yell to find himself laying on his back, both hands grasping wildly at his heart through his clothing.  He was drenched in sweat and shivering violently, face shimmering in the last rays of the afternoon sun.  Slowly, Jak forced himself to relax, taut muscles slowly unwinding as he fought to ease his fears and calm the wildly erratic beating of his heart.  The colors of the heavens had faded to the deep blue of night by the time he finally calmed enough to stand and begin making his way out of the forest.

He walked about the streets of Haven City, more uncomfortable than ever.  The memories of the dream still stuck with him, terrified him more than anything in the world.  And yet, all around him, the world was the same; people rushed about, prostitutes began to roam the streets looking for their next paycheck, exhaust pipes spat out smoke as heat was turned on in the richer buildings, zoomers ran in their normal patterns, the eternal smog still encased the city.  Some people smiled at him as he went past, their eyes betraying the relief they felt at being freed from the Metal Heads.  But Jak could find nothing within himself that felt like smiling back.

Disgusted that he was so afraid of a dream, a silly subconscious hallucination, he shook his head violently to clear it, resolving to focus on the most important thing of the moment: Daxter's birthday.

He stopped off at a portrait store on the way back to the Naughty Ottsel to claim the picture that he had ordered.  It was a huge portrait of Daxter, who was holding a gun in his furry paws and grinning wickedly.  Surrounded by a heavy frame, it was the perfect finishing touch to add to the Naughty Ottsel, and by moving a few things, Daxter could have himself stationed forever above the main room.  Pleased, he left the artist a nice tip and had the elf wrap it in paper.  Out to the zoomer they went, Jak feeling a bit better about things as he buckled the painting into the seat and soared through the air.  He would smile tonight- if not for himself, then for his one true friend.

Daxter had certainly been correct when he said that the Naughty Ottsel would be busy that night.  Jak hadn't ever seen such a mass of people all wanting to get into one place.  Even with the additional room that had been added onto the club, Jak could not see how everyone was going to fit.  Music thumped, echoing off of the open water and up into the dark sky as a long, _long line of people waited to be admitted.  Krimzon Guards stalked up and down the line, watching the people warily and making sure that no one got out of hand, pointedly fingering their guns if people looked like they were having too much fun.  Even outside the club, people danced freely to the music as fireworks shot into the air.  Jak was forced to park near the end of an impromptu dock that had been set up in the bay and carefully carry his precious burden over the water to the doorway._

Sig was acting as the bouncer, and Jak shifted the huge portrait so that the large man could see that it was him.  "Hey there Cherry!" Sig yelled over the din, stepping aside from his position before the door to allow Jak entrance to the packed room beyond.  "Chilipepper's inside… somewhere!"  People in line complained loudly that Jak had bypassed the line, but silenced immediately as Sig turned to glare at them.  Jak could have sworn that the man growled.  Grinning, he began the task of approaching the bar, where he knew that he would find the ottsel.

The hero was quickly ready to pull out his gun and start blasting away to make people move from his path.  Finally, he began brandishing the huge portrait, using the heavy frame to knock people out of his way if they did not move.  Eventually, he reached his friend, who was reclining on the bar as he spoke with an array of people, recounting for the millionth time "his" defeat of Kor.  But as Daxter saw Jak with the wrapped present, he jumped up excitedly.

Jak smiled and held the portrait out to the ottsel.  "Happy birthday, Dax!"

The orange one quickly tore the wrapping off of the gift.  "Aww, thanks buddy!  Here, gimme your gun for a sec!"  Still grinning, Jak complied, and the ottsel copied the painted pose to the vast amusement of all those watching.  Keira was around somewhere, but at the moment, he really didn't care.  Sometime during the duration of the festivities, someone slipped him a bottle of alcohol that, along with many others, proved its potency.  Just as the sun came up, he and Dax finally staggered upstairs, bleary-eyed.  Jak had a tough time of it, smashing into walls and tripping over invisible stairs and bumps that he could have sworn were there, which never ceased to make the totally smashed ottsel giggle in delight. 

Jak collapsed on the bed, smiling drunkenly, Daxter next to him.  The last thing he saw before he was out was Dax, who was grinning stupidly at him.  _I'm glad that you're happy, Dax_, he thought.

And for one blessed night, he was not plagued by nightmares.


	4. Sleep the Day Away

A/N: Yay, new chapter!  Well, obviously, but anyway.  This one is from Dax's point of view on a random whim, and more people come.  Um… yes, the next chapter is going to be fun, this one is more of a transition, but I wanted to show Daxter's view.  So.  Have fun! ^.^  You guys are being so nice with all your reviews, thank you! :-D

Disclaimer: No, I don't own it.  It would be interesting to see if the creators ever ventured around here, though.  I know I would, just to see what the fans are doing.  But that's just me.  Yes.  

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"Ugh."  It seemed to be a very accurate depiction of his state at that moment.  Head pounding, the ottsel pressed a furry paw to his face and groaned again.  Beneath him, the warm form of Jak turned over on his side, making Daxter slip from his comfy spot on the elf's stomach.  Dax blinked sleepily at Jak as the elf threw an arm out towards the table, knocking the communicator off the stand and across the room.  It hit the wall with a crash and fell to the floor, beeping all the more loudly for the abuse.

Jak immediately jumped out of bed and stumbled over to the offending machine, smashing his heel down on it to quell the noise.  The motion was making his face turn a greenish color, and he abruptly turned and headed for the bathroom.  Daxter forced himself up as well and wandered over to the window.  As his friend purged himself of the remnants of the previous night's alcohol binge, the ottsel moved the blinds and peered out, recoiling quickly from the bright sunlight that assailed his sleepy eyes.  The orange rodent shook his fist at the sun from behind the blinds, yawning sleepily and extremely glad that he was able to hold his liquor much better than his friend.

He climbed back onto the bed, curling up into a ball and praying to any god that would listen that the pounding in his head would abate, the one symptom of a hangover that he could never get past.  

"…Dax?"  The word emerged from his friend's throat as a croak.

"Hmm?"

"Don't ever let me get that drunk again."  The elf flopped down onto the bed as well.

"Right-o.  But wasn't it fun?"  The hero made no comment.

Daxter moved to Jak's side and snuggled down into his warm friend, quite content despite the eco drill in his head that was trying to make holes in his skull.  Jak's hand came down to rest on his back, fingers gently stroking the orange fur from time to time as the elf drifted off to sleep again.  Daxter didn't realize that he had fallen asleep, but he was awakened some hours later by the sound heavy boots stomping around the room.  Eyes closed and not fully awake, figuring that it was Jak, the ottsel complained loudly.  "Geez, Jak!  Try and stomp a little harder, will ya?  I don't think they heard you down in the sewers.  Put some effort into it, man!"

"Shnurh…" came Jak's muffled voice from under his pillow.  Surprised, Daxter opened his eyes to see the leering faces of Krimzon Guards staring down at the bed.

"Oh _great_, just what I always wanted to wake up to see," the ottsel grumbled.  Beside him, Jak sat up to see what all the fuss was about, sleepy features hardening at the sight of so many red clad guards crowded into the room.  Daxter understood how he felt- even though their period of enmity was over, some things could never be forgotten, and years of fighting the guards could not be erased in the few weeks that it had been since the Baron's downfall, no matter if Torn and Ashelin were doing all they could to make that change.

"What do you want?"  Jak's tone could have frozen the soldiers to the floor on which they stood.

"We have come on the Governor's orders to escort you to the palace."

"Since when have we needed an escort?" Daxter demanded before Jak could speak.  A guard stepped forward menacingly, glaring at the ottsel, but Daxter failed to cower in fright, a reaction that the burly guard was unused to.  Dax raised an eyebrow.  "Well?"

"Take it up with the Lady Governor," the guard snapped.  "You are to accompany us immediately."  Still frowning, Jak rose and dressed, glaring icily at the guards as they retreated to the stairwell.  Daxter jumped up to his customary spot, glad that the pain in his head had reduced to a dull throbbing.

Daxter's eyebrows rose as the two emerged into the night and saw the abnormally large amount of guards that waited to escort them.  They were ushered into a transport ship filled with guards as more zipped around them in varying sizes of zoomers.  The ship slowly and precariously rose and moved into traffic, the guards around it using their cars to knock civilians out of the way if they did not move quickly enough.  Not that the procession was going very far or fast, but old habits die hard, and some things would never change.

"Bo-_ring_," Daxter complained after a while.  He never thought that he would see the day when he missed Jak's insane driving, but apparently today was that day.  Jak sighed in agreement from beneath him.

Then came the explosion.

The sound reverberated through the thick metal, startling the ottsel so much that he accidentally tugged hard on Jak's long hair.  All of the guards around them jumped up, pointing their guns at the walls of the ship as though they could see out to the threat.  As Jak rose, the pilots slammed on the gas and the transport ship jolted forward, throwing its occupants around.  Jak tumbled into a pile of guards even as Daxter fell and rolled into a wall.

"HEY!" Daxter yelled at the metal barrier that separated the pilots from the passengers.  "What's the big deal?"  The pilots gave no response.  For a moment, he thought that someone had been stupid enough to attack the escort.  But there were no more explosions, no shots were fired, the transport only continued to wind its way through the city at a speed dangerous for a car so big and unmaneuverable.  But all too soon, they saw what the explosion had been.

After only a few moments, the transport suddenly dropped to the ground and screeched to a stop, the back flying open.  Jak was the first to jump out, with the ottsel on his shoulder as usual.  The second that Daxter saw the palace, his jaw dropped open.  People ran around like mad, trying to put out the fire that was trying to destroy as much of the overly-elaborate building as possible.  An entire wing had been reduced to rubble and flame, thick smoke boiling into the sky.  There were injured people everywhere, and many elves frantically dug through the rubble to find others trapped beneath it.  "Precursors…" he heard Jak breathe in shock.

"JAK!"  The scream came only seconds before a very sooty Keira rocketed herself at Jak, flinging her arms around his neck and nearly knocking Daxter off in the process.  After a moment, he jumped down off of Jak's shoulder.  He looked around, forcing himself not to look at how close Jak and Keira were, forced himself not to be jealous at the worry that was so evident on his friend's face.

"Keira?  Are you okay?" Jak asked worriedly, awkwardly putting his hands on her back.  The frightened mechanic started sobbing in relief.

"Oh Jak!  I was working late and… and I decided to take a short break… and as soon as I got out of the building, it exploded!  A-and then I remembered that Ashelin had called you here earlier and I thought that you were still inside, and… and… and…"

"Shhhh… it's okay, I wasn't here.  Are you all right?  You're not injured?"  Keira shook her aqua head, drying her eyes.  Dax glanced back up, fist subconsciously clenching as he saw their faces hovering near one another.  He wanted desperately to go run up and shove theirs faces apart, as he always had done…

"Jak?  Where have you _been?" demanded Ashelin suddenly, and all three of them jumped at the sound of her voice.  There were a bunch of guards around her, all looking around to make sure that there was no threat to her life other than the fire that illuminated the otherwise dark night._

Jak disentangled himself from Keira and turned to face the governor of Haven City, Daxter returning to the elf's shoulder.  "Huh?"

Ashelin frowned, pointing at him accusingly.  "I called you hours ago!  The communicator rang and rang, then we heard groaning and then it broke off into fuzz.  We waited in case you were out or something, but when you didn't come, we figured that they had gotten you, too."

Jak raised an eyebrow.  "They?"

Torn stomped over to them, glaring at the elf and ottsel heatedly.  "And just where were _you all day?  I specifically left you a message last night to accompany a squadron of guards into the sewers to investigate some odd rumors.  If anything had happened, there would have been blood on your hands."_

Jak stiffened and Ashelin laid a restraining hand on Torn's arm.  "Come inside.  We can't speak out here.  Keira, you're free to go find a room and get cleaned up."  Keira hesitated, but at a pointed look from Ashelin, she scooted off unhappily, barely noticed by the quartet of people intent on their disussion.

"I want an explanation NOW!"

"We ah… never got the message?" Daxter said, rubbing the back of his head.

Torn opened his mouth to snap at them more but was cut off by a sharp bark from Ashelin.  "Inside!  Now!"

Rather sullenly, Torn complied, Jak and Daxter following behind.  They went to a small conference room and sat at one of the tables, guards posted at all of the doors.

"Who is 'they'?" Jak asked before Torn could start laying into them again.

Ashelin sighed and ran her hands through her hair, saying nothing.  In the light, Daxter finally got a good look at her.  There was no other word for it- she looked positively frazzled.  There were lines of tension around her mouth and eyes that Daxter couldn't remember seeing before, and a close look at Torn's face showed the same.  Finally, she spoke.  "We don't know who they are, and that's entirely the problem.  They're obviously malcontents, but we just don't know.  There are many, many people that lost all their standing when I took control of the city, and they aren't happy about it.  But there is nothing we can do- they have to be hiring assassins, and unless we can pin them down, we cannot take action against the people paying them."

"Woah, assassins already?" Daxter exclaimed.  

"Yeah," said Torn, exhaustion coming through his deep voice.  "They've tried to kill Ashelin multiple times already, small, quiet, untraceable attacks.  But today they staged a number of carefully planned large-scale attacks to spread our forces out all around the city.  And then…"  The new commander of the Krimzon Guard shrugged.

"So what does that have to do with us?" demanded Jak.

"We believe that they're going to come after you, too."  It was a statement of fact.  Ashelin continued.  "You are, after all, the true heir to the city, and if they get rid of us both, they're free to do what they want.  They'll start a war over this, and no matter how many die, they'll claim the city."

"They'll _try_, you mean.  Those left in the Guard are loyal to you and will protect you," Torn corrected quickly.  There was implicit meaning in his words, and Daxter rolled his eyes.

"I can take care of myself," Jak snapped.  Daxter looked at his friend, surprised.  There was a note of defensiveness in his voice, one which was noticed only by the ottsel.  Those six simple words set Daxter's mind spinning, and he looked more closely at his life-long friend, something he hadn't done in a long time.  His heart nearly stopped as he saw a shadow in almost completely hidden in Jak's eyes- there was a trace of fright and a haunted look buried deep within those liquid blue orbs.  Confused, Daxter continued to stare at his friend until the elf turned to look at him, eyebrow wrinkling as he saw the ottsel's intense stare.  "What?"

"Nothing, nothing!" Dax said quickly, turning his attention back to Torn and Ashelin, pretending to be interested.  But Jak's gaze remained on the ottsel for a while longer, and Daxter had to force himself not to look at his friend again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Weeks passed, and for a while, Jak complied with Ashelin's wishes and was on his guard more than normal, being as low-key as was possible for the grand savior of Haven City.  But after a while, as there were very few Metal Head attacks and no more assassination attempts on either of the two assumed targets, the ottsel and his companion relaxed, tired of living a paranoid life.  Things got back to normal, the palace was slowly rebuilt, and life went on without a major incident.  But Daxter still could not shake the feeling that there was something seriously wrong with his friend.

"Hey Dax, have fun tonight," Jak said one evening as he wandered towards the door.  "I'm going out to dinner with Keira.  I'll be back later."

"Oh… okay… have fun…" Dax muttered distractedly, looking at the totals of the past month's revenues, trying to figure out just how much he had earned.  But as the door slid shut behind his friend, the ottsel threw down the papers and sighed.


	5. Comfort

A/N: It's so short, and it took so long.  I'm sorry! *dives under a table*  I really really really really really hate this chapter.  I can't stand JakxKeira, it's just too fluffy allof the time *twitches*  Buuuuuttttt, it's necessary, so I suppose that all of us yaoi lovers will just have to hang on a bit.  I'll get the next chapter done soon, I promise!

Disclaimer: Yes.  Yes, I own everything.  Everything, you hear me? MUAHAHAHA! XD

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Part of him wanted to go.  Part of him didn't.  But apparently, the part of him that wanted to was overruling the part that did not, as he was walking slowly through the city to the restaurant where he was to meet Keira.  He knew full well what this date was about.  Keira was worried about him, she had told him so flat out when she asked him to come.  The bad thing was that he didn't know if he had the strength left to keep it all inside any more.

She was there waiting, he knew she would be.  She was always there when he needed her.  He noted uncomfortably the very worried look in her eyes as she looked him up and down.  Taking a deep breath, he forced a smile onto his face and sat down at the table.

"Jak…"  

He didn't want to have this talk, not yet.  Maybe he would be stronger after he had eaten, shoved the tasteless food down a throat that did not hunger for it.  He assumed as bright a countenance as possible for his current state of mind.  "Hello, Keira."

"Jak, are you sure that you're okay?" she asked, a slight tremor in her voice.  

Jak ignored her question, taking the menu from off of the table and opened it, pretending to be engrossed in its contents.  "I'm hungry!  What are you going to have?" he asked brightly, scanning the menu and all of the odd food contained within over.  He heard her sigh, and glanced up briefly just as she dropped her eyes, shoulders slumping.

Guilt shot through him.  "Keira?" he said softly.  Her aqua eyes immediately flew up to his, and the hero of Haven City was struck by the pain and longing that he saw there.  He put a small smile on his face for her.  "We'll talk later, okay?  For now, let's just enjoy our diner."

Smiling as well, she nodded.  "Okay."

Eventually dinner came, and they both looked at each other over the dying candle in the middle of the table, munching away and pretending that they liked the food.  At one point, Keira used her fork to pick something off of her plate and, for lack of anything better to do with it, flung it at Jak.  Jak ducked and the piece of food went flying over his head to get caught in the hair of the woman at the table behind him.  The lady shot out of her chair with a shriek, and both Jak and Keira immediately assumed innocent expressions and pretended to be engrossed in their food as the woman turned around to glare at everyone who could have possibly launched the projectile.

The second that the woman turned away and ran off to the bathroom, both elves burst out laughing.  "You know," Keira said in between giggles, "I don't think that I'll ever get used to the food in this place.  It's so…"

"Bland?"

"Yeah."

"I know.  Me either."  Jak didn't say what was on his mind- that there hd been a time when he and Daxter were working for the underground and were lucky to have enough food to fill their stomachs for a week at a time.  But now that Daxter was practically swimming in money and, more than likely, had plenty enough to buy himself a huge house with his chocolate-filled pool, Jak had the luxury of being able to hate what he ate.

"Wanna get out of here?" Jak asked after they had poked at their food for ten minutes more.

"Yeah," Keira said, putting her hand in her chin and smiling at him.  Jak paid for the meal and they walked out of the small restaurant in the bazaar.  As they emerged into the cool night air, Keira slipped her arm through his and snuggled up close to him. "Let's walk," she suggested.

He looked down at her.  "Aren't you cold?"

"Not really.  Not when I'm this close to you…"  She looked up at him, blushing, and Jak felt a blush spread across his face as well.

"Neither am I."

They walked in silence for a time, winding their way back towards Keira's apartment over the garage, enjoying each other's company.  When they stood outside of her home, Jak felt Keira look up at him.  "Jak?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you… do you want to come inside?"  He only smiled down at her softly in answer, one hand reaching up to stroke her face and his own lips coming down to rest lightly on hers.

When they broke their kiss, Keira smiled up at him, eyes sparkling.  "I'll take that as a yes."

She led him in, sat him down as she took off her heavy shoes and flung them into a corner.  Then, as she approached him, Jak began to rethink his decision.  "Jak, what's wrong?"  When he just looked at her, she continued, sitting next to him on the bed and taking his cold hand in her warm one.  "It's just… Jak, we're worried about you.  I'm worried about you."

He opened his mouth to tell her that nothing was wrong, that she had no cause to waste time worrying about him.  But the words caught, unable to pass the lump rapidly forming in his throat.  Despite himself, he began to shake, caught up and whipped around in the midst of the violently conflicting emotions within himself.  He wanted so badly to explain to someone, anyone, tell them that while he pretended that nothing affected him, that he was terrified of what was going on around him.  He was so tired of being the hero, of running to everyone's rescue while there was no one to run to his.  Despite himself, tears formed at the corners of his eyes as he wavered, wanting nothing more at that moment than someone who understood him… or at least, someone who had even the slightest inkling of what he was experiencing.  No one, not her, not even Dax, truly knew what went on in his mind, knew about the constant battle that he waged to keep his demon from taking control, a battle that was finally beginning to take its toll on him.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Keira reached up and pressed her lips against his.  Too stunned to do anything, Jak simply sat there, eyes wide, staring down at her.  She finally withdrew from him, moving back only inches, her beautiful face still only inches from his.  He expected her to blush, but she did not.  On the contrary, she looked up at him, tears glistening in her eyes as they had been only moments before in his.  "Oh, Jak," she whispered, warm breath caressing his face.  "Please… I know that it hurts, but…"  She flung her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder as her tears came more and more quickly.  "Please, Jak, tell me.  Don't keep it all inside of you.  I want to help you…"

He wrapped his arms around her sobbing form, tears that had been pent up for years inside of him flowing down his face.  Slowly, haltingly, he began to speak, telling her in a broken voice about everything, his capture, his panic, his torture, his demon, everything.  It all came out of him, words he had been longing to say for so long but unable to do.  He knew that she did not understand fully, could never even do more than scratch the surface.  But he had to try.  He was just so tired of being alone.

And so, even after the words had died away, replaced by the physical need for one another, Jak spent the night in her arms.  For one night, at least, there was someone who could be with him.


	6. Seedling

A/N: Aaaaannnddd it's finally finally done!  Okay, I'm just lazy.  It sat in my notebook for some two weeks, finished and everything, just not typed.  But anyway.  Take it as yaoi, don't take it as yaoi, that is totally up to you.  It certainly works for the former and can be made to work for the latter if you're that opposed to it.  And if you don't like blood, you won't want to read the last part of this chapter.  Okies?  Oh, and thanks for helping with the title, Krin! :D

Disclaimer:  I don't own this.  Duh.

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Daxter didn't miss the fact that Jak didn't come home that night, nor the next night, nor two nights after that.  The ottsel feigned indifference, teasing his friend mercilessly, all the while annoyed with himself for caring.  Each time that Daxter bugged him about it, Jak's reaction was the same- he would squirm, blush, try to brush the ottsel off, never once suspecting, never once looking deep enough into the ottsel's eyes to see what Dax knew he wasn't hiding well.  Then the elf would tease the ottsel in turn about his relationship with Tess.

Yeah.  Right.

Daxter knew full well that Tess thought Jak to be the greatest gift that the Precursors had ever given their race.  But Keira had rapidly made it clear who Jak belonged to, and it hadn't been hard for the ottsel to realize how hurt she was.  But he said nothing when the blonde flirted shamelessly with him, playing it up, both using their friendship as a cover.

People in this city weren't very good at hiding their feelings.

Kinda like him.

Oh, sure, Tess was hott, and she had a particularly lovely habit of leaning down onto the bar and thus giving him an excellent, eye-level view straight down her low-cut shirt.  Besides, she was one of the very few people who didn't look down on him because of the way that he looked.  And he did like girls; it was just that… well, it was Jak.

Jak…

Daxter had nearly died when Jak was taken away from him.  He was foolish, he knew, for thinking that they would never be parted.  But they had been together for so long, ever since Samos had wandered in one day with the little blonde kid in tow and Daxter had approached him, stared for a moment, sucking air in around his infamous buckteeth, and poked the boy, causing Jak to run and hide behind the egg-headed Sage.  They had been together through all of their childhood to the wild mess with Gol and Maia to… here.  To the place where they had been separated and Jak had been changed irrevocably.  Dax knew full well that he hadn't been there when Jak needed him most, but… he had done everything he could to help his friend.

It was hard sometimes, too- Dark Jak was more hateful ad evil than any Metalhead could ever be.  He wished that he had never been with Jak when he transformed, had never known about the Dark Eco that ripped through his friend's body.  There was no possible way to describe the feeling that he got when Jak unleashed his demon on the world.  Every single time, Daxter relived the pain of his transformation over and over and over again as the darkness that danced over Jak's flesh seared through his own, twisting, writhing, burning away all that was human about him, pain and horror hitting him in a torrent that nearly made his laboring heart burst with the pain.  But the pain and terror always faded away just in time, replaced by a twisted sense of pleasure.  The Eco played over his fur, seeping in through his pores and slowly wending its way through his body, slipping over and around everything under his skin, encasing it all in a dark murk that slowed down his entire form.  There was nothing in him that did, nothing in him that even wanted to try resisting the flow of the Dark Eco to his mind, the Eco that wrapped him up completely until he was nothing more than a grinning shell, staring out at the world through an oddly pleasurable fog.

It disgusted him, repulsed him.  But it was like one of the addictive drugs that teens would pass to one another when the Krimzon Guards had their heads turned.  Despite his abhorrence of the phenomenon, there was always that part of him that responded favorably to the Dark Eco.  And it kept him alive, dulled his life, making him so like the demon inside Jak that Dark Jak had no desire to squash out his life like he did anything else that happened to be in his range of view.

Sometimes, he almost hated Jak for doing this to him, for putting him through all of this.  But so long as he was with Jak, he was okay.  So long as he was with Jak, he would go through anything.

Anything.

And right now, he hated Keira more than anything in the world.  Oh, Precursors only knew what Jak had been through those two long years, knew that he, more than anyone, deserved to finally find comfort and acceptance.  But…

That's what Daxter had been offering him all along.

He shouldn't be jealous; it wasn't like Jak _belonged_ to him or anything.

He just didn't want to lose him again.

So the dejected little ottsel slowly climbed up the stairs and wandered into the lonely room.  He curled up on the empty bed where Jak should have been, coldness settling over him, trying and failing to pretend that he wasn't all alone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There was life around him. He could feel it down to the very core of his being, hanging so deliciously desirably before his consciousness.

He wanted it.

His time of wanting was drawing to a close.  His time of starving even as his insatiable hunger grew and grew was over.  No longer would he be subservient to that weak mortal.  No longer would he be forced to sit back when it was past time for him to truly come to life.

At last… life would be his.  His time of feeding on the pitiful metal monsters was done.  

He wanted blood.

And it was high time that he took control.

He loved to kill.  Loved to hunt, feasting on the fear and hate as they flowed toward him from his prey, an intoxicating drought that only left him wanting more and more.  Loved to finally trap his prey, seizing it with his mind and body alike, ripping, rending, finally consuming the life that he detested and envied so, only slowly, so that every second must seem like a thousand eternities of pain.

He didn't like to wait.  But it was necessary for at least a little while longer. The seeds had been cultivating within his host for years now, stretching roots down deep, pushing up toward the surface and forming a bud of darkness ready to throw its black petals open and infect the world with its lovely pollen.  He had been pushing it lately, expending more energy that he ought to have in order to get it to grow more quickly.  He had terrified the mortal in his dreams, sucking up the waves of terror that came from the weakling's mind and hurling storing it for later, though he tired himself in the process.  He was fatigued now, and spent time resting while the incessant hunger gnawed at him without pause.  Already the time was drawing near, and he had to force himself not to ruin all of his careful work by acting in haste.  Once this worked… he would be free.

He would be unstoppable.

No, it would not be long.

And now, it was time to feed.

No one ever said he couldn't have fun.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A low groan emerged from Jak's mouth as he tried to emerge from the thick haze of sleep.  No… not sleep… from the chill that his consciousness was mired in when his dark form took over.  He couldn't remember where he was or what he had been doing to warrant the use of the dark power that he controlled.

He frowned without opening his eyes as he realized his face was pressed against a firm surface and that, wherever he was, it was rather wet and sticky.  Slowly, his eyelids rose.

His heart stopped.

Memories came flooding back to him: his date with Keira; their return to her secluded apartment, as always; their hours spent in each other's arms; gradually drifting off to sleep, exhausted, wrapped in one another's embrace.

The all too familiar screaming from his nightmares was back again, assailing his ears, horror in every note of the long and uninterrupted sound.  It took him a long time, until his voice cracked and his throat constricted so much that he could barely breathe, to realize that it was him.

Her face was on the ground before him, the cooling, lifeless object that his lips had been pressed against, her face frozen in a mask of terror.  Even as he pushed and scrabbled at the ground, slipping in a futile effort to get away that earned him a face full of her warm blood, he could not tear his eyes from the alabaster face and lifeless emerald eyes that stared off into the nothingness of death.

Her head was completely torn off of her body.

His eyes swiveled around the room, half unseeing yet taking in everything, not needing light to see what he already knew was there.

As he slowly crawled back to her head, some distant part of him wondered at the fact that through all of his screaming, no one had come.  But there was no reason for anyone to, either- the area around her home was always deserted.  That was why they had chosen her place for their nightly courting.

His horror at what lay before him kept him from thinking rationally, kept him from doing what he ought.  As his mind slowly processed what had happened, he wound his fingers around the back of her skull and picked her head up out of the endless ocean of her lifeblood that covered the floor.  He cradled it in his arms, letting her hair hang down, aqua almost completely obscured by crimson.  His lips came down to rest on the top of her head, tongue tasting a mixture of metallic blood and sweat, arms crushing the skull to his body so closely that it seemed he might shatter it.

Eyes dark with pain, heart knowing exactly who had done it, he sat cradling the head to his chest, rocking slowly back and forth in the small, darkened room.


	7. Loose

A/N: Well, it is FINALLY updated.  I've had no time lately, and as a result, this chapter sat in my notebook for something like two weeks, fully complete but not typed.  But now it's here. ^_^  I must say that the reviews on the last chapter had me cracking up for ages!  They were all so varied and… it was just great!  I ought to pop random things like Keira's death out more often! ;-)

Disclaimer: I don't own this… and GameInformer is taking their sweet time mailing me my new subscription… I just want to see the article about Jak III! *wails*

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Daxter paused before Keira's apartment, looking up at the tightly-shuttered windows.  He had waited and waited.

And waited.

And still Jak had not come home.  After three days of lying awake at night, tossing and turning as he tried desperately to squash the images of the two that flitted through his head, after three days of falling into a light doze only to be awakened in the middle of the night by the tiny noises of the city, heart pounding and fully convinced that it was Jak, returning at last, only to be disappointed each time, Daxter didn't care at all if they were angered by his intrusion.

His gloved knuckles rapped gently on the door, and when no answer came, he pushed it open, glad that it was unlocked.  The interior of the building was pitch black, and a silence that cut straight to Daxter's bones permeated it.  The ottsel paused to let his eyes adjust, about to turn and leave as no one was home.  But… no, there were Jak's beloved hoverboard and gun thrown carelessly onto the sofa.  Jak would never go _anywhere_ without them.

Daxter placed one orange foot in front of the other, hesitant to go back into Keira's bedroom.  But… maybe they were asleep…

The door to her room was nearly closed, only an inch of darkness beyond the metal barrier.  Dax slowly pushed the door open, the sickly-sweet stench of decay assaulting his nostrils as he did so.  His heart seemed to be pounding wildly, so loudly that it drowned out all other noise.  Slowly, so very, very slowly, he reached out with a fuzzy hand and pushed the door open.  The sounds of ragged breathing reached his ears.  His own?  No…

The small ottsel, shaking uncontrollably, screwed shut his eyes and touched the light pad.  Beyond his closed eyelids, brightness flared into being.  Gritting his teeth, balling his fists, Daxter opened his eyes.

Red hit him in waves.

It was everywhere, the floor, the walls, the ceiling, the furniture, the beds, covering the unnatural lights, tainting the air a thick crimson that clung like a leech to every object that it touched.  There was only one place that the red was not.

In Jak's eyes.

But no longer were they the bright, crystalline blue of his youth, nor the deep cerulean hue that they had taken on during his imprisonment.  His wide eyes, glazed and staring at nothing, held little of their former color, now so dark that they were nearly black.

Daxter shivered as he realized just how like Dark Jak those orbs looked.

Jak did not move; Daxter did not speak.

Finally, the ottsel wrenched his gaze away from Jak's eyes and let it drift over the rest of his body.  Beneath the blood that plastered his face, his skin was the color of untainted snow; his mouth hung open, breathing shallow and pained.  A gasp tore itself from the ottsel's throat as he saw what Jak held, protectively wrapped in crimson-stained arms, a frozen statue in the midst of a dried lake of lifeblood.

Not of his will, Daxter's eyes drifted to stare at the bloodied lumps that lay behind his friend's immobile figure.

Daxter's stomach heaved as he stared at her.  He had never before seen a person in so many separate parts.  They had all been neatly fixed, arranged with all the correct body parts in the right places, entrails and organs placed as well as possible into the holes left in her corpse.  Nothing remained of the girl that he had grown up with but the shattered remnants of her body.

He turned into a corner and threw up the meager contents of his stomach, gagging on the scent of decay and the taste of blood in the air.  When he was finally done, he leaned on the wall, eyes shut once more, gasping in a effort to regain control of himself.  When he looked up at last, he froze.

Jak was looking at him.

Jak was watching, but he wasn't truly seeing, looking at something that Daxter did not know, could not see.  The ottsel gulped and took a step back, then another, seeing that Dark Jak was simmering just beneath Jak's skin, ready to burst out and rip him apart just as he had done to Keira, into a thousand tiny bits scattered all over the city, blood seeping down into the sewers to eventually be drunk by all the poor that could not afford clean water, body disintegrating away, leaving nothing, and no one, not a single person, would remember him, all they would do was mourn the young, happy Jak that was long gone.

In a single swift motion, Jak stood up, then bent over and tenderly placed her severed head where it belonged.  He turned.

"Daxter…?"  His voice cracked in the middle of the word and his throat ceased to function, working hard, but Daxter knew full well what Jak said.  His retreat stopped, and the ottsel stared up into his friend's alien eyes.

Eyes that held pain and horror.

Five, ten minutes passed as they both stood immobile, gazes never wavering.

And then Jak ran.

He brushed past the ottsel, and Daxter cried out in pain as Jak's foot briefly crushed his tail.  But the weight was soon gone, and before Daxter finally realized what was going on, Jak was gone.

And all hell broke loose.

The ground trembled, at first softly, then with increasing strength until the tremors were strong enough to throw Daxter from his feet.  The building groaned under the force of the shifting earth, announcing its intention to crumble to the ground.  With a groan, the ottsel stumbled out of the thrashing building and to the street.  Somewhere a few blocks over, people screamed as one of the cheap homes fell over, smashing into one a few scant feet away.  So closely were they packed that building after building after building fell to the ground within moments, and Daxter watched in horror as a group of fleeing people were crushed under the weight of the weak wall that fell upon them.  People ran back and forth, screaming in confusion; booted feet came dangerously close to trampling him.

Finally the tremors ceased, but still the chaos did not abate.  Shouted conversations flew back and forth, intermingled with screams of terror.  "Demon!  Demon!"  His heart jumped every time he heard them, the cry reverberated in his head.

_Jak__…_

"Run!  Murderer!"

_Jak__…_

"Aaaaaa-"  

"Jak!"  He took off at a dead run towards the screams, frustrated with the fact that so many people barred his way.

But all too soon he found the source of the scream.  A body lay on the ground, torn apart but not nearly so dismembered as Keira's.  A few drops of blood splattered on the ground led him in the direction of the direction of the next body, which he found moments later, and that unfortunate person's innards led to the next, and the next.  He followed the trail without stopping, though his tiny body began to fail and his mind wanted desperately to give in to the darkness that his horror and stress were imposing upon him, wanted to escape from the nightmare that had come to life before him.

The trail went right out the now quite-broken city gate.

"Jak!  Come back!" he yelled as loudly as he could while panting for breath.  He skidded to a stop at the gate, searching, desperately wanting to find Jak but hesitant to leave the city.  He wavered, ready to spring out after his only true friend…

…and then his decision was made for him.  "Shut the gates!" guards yelled over and over.  "The Governor has been assassinated!  Shut the gates!"  The backup generators flared into life and strings of eco, at first weak and thin and then increasingly thick, stretched out across the gateway that had been destroyed in Jak's frenzied passing.  Daxter was thrown back with a pain-filled yelp as he was fried by the eco, sealed irrevocably into the city.

More Krimzon Guards came, guns drawn, pointing them out through the streaming eco at the invisible threat outside, pushing the little ottsel out of the way.  Any sharp retort from Daxter was cut short as he caught sight of Jak.

Jak seemed to be flickering, just like the eco that Daxter stared through.  Dark Eco danced over his grey skin as his featured constantly melded partway into those of his demon and back again, over and over and over until both seemed to exist at once.  For the shortest instant, his ashen hand reached out towards Daxter, pleading, begging for help.  Then he was gone.

A red foot knocked Daxter away, and he flew back into a wall.  But the jolt cleared his head momentarily.  "His stuff…" he muttered thickly, struggling up.  "I hafta get his stuff before… before…"  Clutching his head, Daxter took a deep breath and set off running, ignoring everything but his need to get to Jak's stuff, to protect it, to keep it safe.  

He did not go back into Keira's room, left her for someone else to find, someone else to deal with.  Completely ignoring, not even seeing that part of the house, he grabbed Jak's effects.  They were heavy, so very heavy… he strained, dragging the stuff along as he walked backwards.  Down the steps, across the street, right turn, left turn, along the highway as guard cars raced every which way, terrified at any second his head would be shaved off by a passing zoomer, through the market area.  It took so long, so very long.  His vision tunneled until all he saw were his hands, clutching the gun and shield in a death grip as they swept across the ground, scratched by all the rocks that they passed over.

By the time the ottsel reached his home, he had to fight every second to retain consciousness.  The bright sign and lighted ottsel statue gleamed like a beacon as bright as day, calling him, leading him home.  

Alone…

Alone… alone… alone…

With a final great heave, Daxter pulled both himself and Jak's weapons onto the pad before the door.  He fell to the ground, eyes shut, mind blocking out everything and escaping to a place where none of it had ever happened.


	8. Drowning

A/N: So it's been uh… two and a half months since I last updated… cringes My muse decided to take an extended vacation, and with finals, finals, graduating, and a lot of drama, my life was a mess for a while there. But I finally made myself update, and the next chapter should be along soon as it's almost written now and all I have to do is type it.

One thing, if anyone feels that they can get Pecker's dialogue down right, please e-mail me, because I need HELP! I don't like the way I have his dialogue now, it just doesn't seem quite right. So I'd love you forever if you'd assist me! If not, then you people will just have to deal with an odd bird for a while! ;)

Disclaimer: Yeah… no.

* * *

Daxter's eyes slowly opened. The room swam for a moment, then came into focus. With a groan, he pushed himself up and off of the soft bed, wincing as his stiff fingers finally unwound from around Jak's stuff. He drew a shaky breath as he thought of Keira and Jack. He wanted so badly to believe that it wasn't true; but deep within, he knew without doubt that it was.

Precursors, he was worried about Jak.

The door to the room opened, and for one wild moment he thought that it was Jak that popped his head into the room. But when he blinked, the blonde mop lightened and the face changed into the familiar feminine features of a very worried Tess. Seeing that he was awake, she walked fully into the room and sat on the bed.

"Heya, sweetcakes," Daxter managed, though it sounded terribly false and weak to his ears.

She only smiled.

"Wha-"

"You've been out for half the day, Dax… It's already all over the city. Mostly rumors, but there is some of what I assume is the truth out there. If Ashelin hadn't been assassinated, the Guard would have broken down our door by now." Daxter said nothing, only covered his eyes and shuddered at the memory. Tess's voice became softer, a warm hand came down to rest upon his trembling form. "Daxter… what happened?"

He didn't answer her immediately but got up and struggled down the stairs, hands finding and winding their way around a bottle. It was only after a few swigs of alcohol burned their way down his constricted throat that he found that he could speak. Slowly, haltingly, the little ottsel told her what he had found. The more he spoke, the paler Tess became until her face was as white as the moon and her wide eyes were filled with horror.

There was complete silence for nigh on ten minutes as the blond stared at the rodent and Daxter stared at anything but her, lost in horrific imaginings of what was happening to Jak out… _there_.

The door slid open and someone entered; who, Daxter didn't know, didn't care. It whirred, a glitch, unable to close and block out the slivery moonlight that had managed to find its way through the haze enshrouding the city. The great orb hung just inside the boundaries of the doorframe, icy demeanor gloating haughtily at Daxter, mocking his pain.

He turned his back on it.

* * *

The same harsh moon lit Jak's path as the darkness, both real and intangible, swirled around his form. He walked hunched over, gasping for breath. His feet hit a rock, his body turned, eyes connecting with the outline of the massive city.

Close… he was still so close…

The ground shifted under his feet, abruptly sending him cascading down an incline. The serrated edges of what little flora there was cut deeply into his body. Hot bile rose in his throat as the scent of fresh snaked up into his nostrils, lying heavily upon his tongue as fresh mingled and slipped over old, wetting the crimson anew. His head connected sharply with a rock, his chest landed heavily on another stone, knocking what air there was out of his labouring lungs. Down, down, so far down he recklessly tumbled until the earth spat him over another ledge and down onto the dark ground below. He lifted his head, trying to see what lay before him.

All life had ended. The moon shone its cold light down on a vast sea of nothing. The wind lifted dirt off of the barren surface and bore it up into the firmament above until all the strength was gone and it came raining back down to clog Jak's mouth and nose. With a groan, his head slumped back down to the ground and his eyes, weeping tears that even he did not realize were there, shut.

* * *

_"Jak!__ Jak, where are you?" There was no reply, only the deep darkness that muffled and enveloped his words. "You have to come, you know! Big hero, loud music, hot babes… ALCOHOL… even _you_ couldn't refuse that one, buddy!"_

_But there was no reply. He eventually began to stumble along blindly, growing scared for his friend. The shadows pressed in on him, __endeavoured to flatten him, enclosing him on all sides until he felt as though he were trapped in a box, knowing that Jak was facing the same from the malevolent mass all around him. He screamed his name, over and over until his voice was hoarse, terror overflowing from his small body. There had to be a sign, any sign at all, that Jak had not succumbed to the darkness like all of his fears howled at him to do._

_That Jak was there, mired in the same dark death, he had no doubt. He could sense his friend, smell his pain and fear as though he was only a few feet away…_

_Then he was there, right before him, just standing, eyes shut, face calm, skin shining in the shadows, unbothered by his lack of clothing. "Jak!" he screamed again, praying that his cracked voice was loud enough to reach Jak's ears. He lunged towards his friend, desperate just to touch him, just to know that he was there._

_But he wasn't._

_The darkness took him, absorbed him until he stumbled to a halt and turned to find Jak behind him, eyes open, meeting his gaze solemnly, unwaveringly. Again he reached for Jak. Again Jak disappeared, fading into the black mist and emerging again and again each time that he went to touch him, sometimes looking at him, sometimes not._

_He froze when he saw Jak for the fifteenth, twentieth time. Trembling violently, fur shaking in rippling waves across his back, he stared at his friend. Jak's arms, skin the colour of the purest Light Eco, shone in the darkness like a brilliant star in the heavens, the single source of light in the desolate wasteland of pitch. His eyes followed the glowing skin as the arms rose, rose towards the sky that they emulated until they were straight out, palms up, eyes liquid, pleading with him to come help him, to save him._

_Daxter__ had never moved so fast._

_Jak__ reached down and picked him up as the rodent collided forcefully into his legs, relief overflowing from his eyes. His skin was so cold that Daxter shivered, and Jak looked at him questioningly. Daxter only sighed and forced himself to relax in those familiar hands, wondering idly why Jak did not speak. But he was here, he was real, and after so long of finding only specters of Jak, he was content just to stay. He wanted to speak, to cry out that he was worried about Jak, but he did not. Something had slowly washed over him; not peace, but a strange calmness, and he was loathe to shatter it. Even the murky depth that they were entombed in no longer seemed so dark._

_And then his grip shifted. Jak's hands snaked up his body to wrap themselves around his thin neck, bone-chilling ice suddenly seizing and freezing his heart. The snowy digits rested there harmlessly for a moment, and Daxter slowly looked up into Jak's face to see what he already knew would be there._

_A black grin already twisted Jak's face. Even as Daxter watched, his features twisted grotesquely and shimmered, wavering for a moment. And then, with a mighty jerk, they shifted into that of Jak's demon. Black nails, all but invisible in the darkness, came to rest on the quivering skin of his neck, teasing, toying, drawing thin rivulets of blood from his arteries, and he smiled as they threaded their way down his fur. The demon leaned forward, face coming ever closer to his, dark eyes filled with a mix of loathing and hunger as they drank in his fear…_

_…and Daxter changed. Underneath Dark Jak's fingernails his skin rippled, his body lengthened and grew, the fur all over his body moved and slithered its way up to his head, leaving behind pale skin, pink against that of the demon._

_"Plead." _

_ It was a whisper, a whisper that echoed like the force of hundreds, thousands of people screaming at once._

_Daxter__ didn't want to respond, didn't want to have anything to do with the death that gripped him in its claws. Not of his will, his eyes rose from his newly created body to the pits that stared back at him._

_Again.___

_"Plead."_

_When he did not respond, the demon's hands tightened, nails digging further into the soft flesh of his neck. "Plead. Beg me for you life." Teeth gleamed in the darkness. "Beg me for _his_ life." _

_His hands tightened more._

_Pain… there was so much pain, all over his body and in his heart. He tried to resist, tried valiantly to ignore it. With every passing second those cold hands tightened fractionally. _

_"Please…" The word passed his lips, nearly soundless as his head burst with pain._

_The hands paused. "Say it again."_

_"Please… let him go…"_

_The demon laughed, louder and louder and louder until it echoed so in his mind that he could not even tell when the demon had ceased. With one final malicious, gleeful thrust, the fingers pushed through his neck and out the other side before ripping through what remained of his flesh._

_The pain escalated a hundredfold; his vision slowly began to fade. He made one last effort to speak Jak's name, screaming it in his mind, though not a sound emerged from his broken body, burning blood slipping down his trachea and into his lungs, replacing the air as he drowned in his own life. He was falling, falling… _

_Falling…_

* * *

He hit the ground hard, elbows and knees bruising under the force of the impact. He sat up, gasping for breath, staring fearfully at nothing as the last remnants of his nightmare faded away.

For the first time in years, he put his head in his hands and cried.


	9. Accepted

A/N: Yeah, yeah, so I lied, it took a long time lol. This is an odd chapter. It felt quite forced a lot of the time, and it's longer than the previous ones; however, it is (or rather, has become) drastically important to the plot. The ending bit after the doors speak… well, that hadn't been planned at ALL. But out it randomly popped, and I love it! It also gave me a way to end part one (though before the ending is as it stands, there was no part one lol). So yes, there is quite a bit more to come. Can't leave Jak out there all alone, now can we? ;-)

And thank you for your offer of help, Exileian, but I got lazy. Pecker just doesn't speak much! :-D

Disclaimer: I do not own this.

------------------------------------

Slowly, Daxter opened his eyes, blinking away the confusion of emerging from sleep.  He could remember all too clearly what had happened and wished that there was something very hard nearby with which his head could connect and send him into oblivion again.

But that would not help Jak.

A commotion arose from outside, on the street below.  No, he slowly realized.  It had been going on all night as he had drifted fitfully in and out of sleep.  Angry voices came through the walls, and Daxter stuck his head out the window and yelled at them to "shut the hell up".  The guards that had been arguing before him promptly turned and started blasting holes in the wall around his head before turning back to the citizen cowering before them.  The Guard's mocking voice sounded annoyingly like Pecker's.

Daxter's head shot up.  Pecker!  Onin!  She would know what to do!  She could help him!

His feet pounded against the ground as quickly as his heart thundered against the bones of his chest.  "Dax?  Dax, wait!" Tess called after him as he rushed out the door, but he was already gone. 

The city was in chaos.  It looked as though martial law had taken effect; guards roamed around bullying and shooting whomever they pleased.  Not that the guards hadn't done that anyway, but now they did it without pause.  Many of the citizens of Haven City were holed up in terror in their shabby little houses (or those that remained standing, anyway), though some of the braver denizens of the city remained outside, looting and pillaging to their hearts' content.  For once, Daxter wished that he could just get in a zoomer and zip through the city, alternately dodging and hitting the pedestrians and other vehicles.  But it would attract too much attention, something that the little ottsel could not afford with Jak's fate on the line (besides, it wasn't a pleasant experience to drive them himself in the first place, having to stretch to reach the petals and steering wheels, and then trying to see everyone all around him…).  A wry grin stretched his face as he dashed from shadow to shadow; for one of the first times since his "accident", Daxter was glad that he was small.

When he arrived at Onin's hut, he stormed inside, startling Pecker so much that the bird fell off his perch with an indignant squawk.  There was so much incense in the tent that Daxter was having trouble breathing, and he sneezed loudly, causing Onin to stir and Pecker to fly at him, smacking him repeatedly with his wings.  "Silence!" Pecker said in an exaggerated whisper, smacking him yet again with his wing.

Onin motioned to Pecker, who gave a soft, "arrrk" and flew over to land on her head.  "Speak or leave, furball."

"Stuff it, bird brain," Daxter snarled, creeped out by the somber mood in the tent.  He marched straight up to Onin and opened his mouth, but it was a still-quiet Pecker that spoke first.

"She says," the bird began slowly, watching the ancient seer's hands trace paths frustratingly slowly through the air, "she says that she, arrrrrrk, knows why you have come."  He paused as Onin's hands dropped shakily to her lap and she took a deep breath.  There was silence.  Just as Daxter was ready to leap at the old bat and shake her, her wrinkly arms rose once more.

"What do you want me to do?" Daxter cut off irritably.  Every second that he spent here meant another second that he wasn't spending finding Jak. 

"Do you want me to translate or not?" snapped Pecker, and Onin frowned at both of them.  "She says to go to the temple.  Just go."  Pecker launched himself off of Onin's head and flapped his way over to Daxter, forcing him out of the door.

With only the slightest thought as to why Pecker and Onin were acting so oddly, he turned and headed for the mountain temple.

And behind him, Onin smiled, patted Pecker on the head, and finally died.

------------------------------------

Go to the temple.  Well, he was there, the doors were sliding open before him.  Now what?  He hadn't the foggiest idea of what to do.  With a last glance out at the city, the little ottsel let the door slide shut behind him.

If the city had been in chaos, the temple had been all but destroyed.  The earthquake had sent great chunks of the mountain down the remnants of the ancient Precursor buildings. 

The platform that led to the forest was gone.  Not that Daxter particularly wanted to go that way- he and Jak had spent many a long hour in that forest killing Metalheads and exploring every nook and cranny.  There was nothing there that they hadn't found.

That left only the problem of the inverted platform that led across the gap.  Jak had always used the force of a well-aimed shot to right the thing.  As the approached the platform, the ottsel tripped over a rock, stumbling and turning to kick it in frustration before he halted mid-motion and realized that it would be a perfect projectile.  But the rock was a little big for him to comfortably lift.  Well, not _that_ big, but in comparison to _him_, he thought bitterly, it was big.

Daxter laboriously rolled it over towards the precipice and then picked it up, tottering underneath its weight.  With a groan of effort, he hurled it towards the inverted platform.

It missed by a mile, as did the second, and the third, and the fourth.  Discouraged, he stopped watching the fourth rock's inevitable fall and turned to find another.  There was only one left, a chunk of stone nearly too big for him to lift, much less throw.  Cursing his luck, Daxter wrapped his fingers around it.  Tiny muscles straining, he picked it up and started running towards the edge of the cliff, spinning in circles and praying to any and every Precursor that it would make it.  The force of one particularly strong spin sent Daxter flying out over the precipice, fingers still pried around the rock.  The stone collided with ancient Precursor metal and Daxter dropped it as the platform flipped, scrambling for a hold.  Finally the turning stopped, the floating metal rocking slowly as Daxter clung to the rounded edge with the tips of his fingers.  Breathing hard and trying not to look down, he pulled himself to the top, running across it and launching himself across to the opposite cliff.  For the second time in as many minutes, he found himself suspended over the gaping chasm by only the fur of his fingers.  Once more, he pulled himself up, groaning as his hands and stomach were scratched by the rough lip.

One platform down, one to go.  But at least the next one wasn't of the inverted, timed, having-to-jump-over-a-terrifyingly-long-and-unending-drop type, he mused to himself as he jumped onto it.

Nothing happened.  He hopped, hoping that when he landed the metal would realize he was there and start its descent.  But still the thing remained frustratingly immobile, other than to shake almost imperceptibly.  He jumped again and again and again, pounding his feet into the surface in frustration and screaming curses at the top of his lungs.  Finally, the platform abruptly groaned and took off, Daxter very nearly falling off as his bouncing came to a stop and he skidded precariously close to the edge.

"It's not worth it!"

Only it was.

But that still didn't do anything to help the fact that he had no idea where to go.

Things would have been so much easier if Jak had been there.

_Jak__…_

Forcing painful thoughts out of his head, Daxter stepped off the platform as it halted and paused to look around.  The first passage to the left had crumbled and was impassible; the left and center passages at the crossroads had crumbles away to nothing.  So.  Only one way to go.

"I guess I'll just explore," he muttered to himself. 

He still had no idea of what exactly it was that he was supposed to be looking for.  It seemed rather foolish, now that he looked back on it, just blindly running off to the temple with not even the slightest direction.  All he wanted to do was find something, anything, that could help Jak.  "Anything!" he suddenly yelled to the walls of the little valley he was in.  His only response was the falling of a few grains of dirt and small pebbles from a nearby ledge.

He smiled at nothing and kept walking.  Just as he was despairing of finding anything, he spied a large crack in the left side of the wall.  The earthquake had really done a number on the temple, and, figuring that this hole was his best chance of finding anything, he took a breath and went in.  It led directly around a corner and Daxter was immediately plunged into sudden darkness, forced to grope his way along.  The sound of his breathing echoed off the close stone walls, rough and uneven.  The earth groaned above him, wanting to shift to close in the unnatural gouge that the ottsel stumbled blindly though.

Daxter lost all sense of time as he wound his way through the crack.  Wearied, he stopped and leaned against the stone after groping slightly to find it.  There was a light click underneath his fingers and a soft blue illuminated the corridor.

It was old, dirty, and exceedingly dusty.  The smell of ancient air assaulted his nostrils anew as he slowly continued on, and he tried his best to ignore it.  The area he was in was no longer a crack in the mountain but a purposefully created tunnel of Precursor metal, complete with engraved runes all over the place which gave off the bluish light.  The walls were cracked, the ancient writing often worn to the point that it was only a mass of blue.

Daxter's breath caught excitedly.  So maybe that old bat had foreseen that he would find this place here!  He broke into a run, jumping over fallen rocks and dodging pools of dripping water, the stone walls illuminating before him and fading after he had passed.  The tunnel ran straight and at an incline, so that when Daxter finally reached his destination, the cold air made him shiver, despite having been running.

When his eyes found their way to the massive doors that stood before him, he instantly knew  that this was where he needed to be.  Had the doors not been broken and hanging partially off their hinges, it would have been the end of the road for Daxter, who would have had no hope of opening them, so gigantic even against his tiny proportions were they. 

He took one step towards the portal, and another, peering through the dark opening that shouldn't have been there.  As his foot hit the ground on the third step however, a booming voice rang thorough the small corridor, shaking dirt from the ceiling and making Daxter fear that the vibrations would cause another cave-in.  _"Let he who enter here take heed: no step tainted by evil or of impure heart may walk in this most holy place.  For herein dwells the closing of a dream and the ending of a world; sealed away from those who did abuse our greatest gift, evil shall find no solace here.  Beware."_

With that, the terrible voice died, and Daxter stood frozen to the spot, the words echoing not only down the tunnel, but in his mind.  _No step tainted by evil…_  He had been around Jak a lot when his demon had surfaced… and the demon was evil… but was he?  How could he _tell_?

But his indecision was squashed by a thrill of hope seconds later.  What lay before him positively reeked of the Precursors and their ancient knowledge; if this dead race, beings of the purest light, couldn't save Jak, nothing would.

A feeling of peace washed over him then.  It did not matter what happened to him.  He would gladly lay down his life in an instant if only it would help Jak, and he would die with only the regret in his heart that he had not been able to do more. 

Memories flooded his mind, images of the two together, meeting, playing, going on crazy adventure after crazy adventure.  He treasured all of those memories, even the most painful ones, and he would never let them go.  Come what would, he would stand by Jak through it all.

A gentle breeze arose and wrapped itself around him, holding him and making his small body tingle.  His eyes drifted closed, gloved hands gently clasped together before his heart.  There were ancient words in that magical wind, words that tickled his ears, things that he could not understand and that ought to have terrified him; but he could not push away the calmness and feeling of love that had enveloped him enough to fear.

He would belong to Jak, forever and always.

And without a single doubt, he stepped forward and over the threshold.


	10. Part II: Burning

A/N: Woo, nice long chapter for your reading pleasure, and the beginning of Part II!  I have been waiting for this chapter since I first started this story, for both the Precursor history that I made up and the other thing at the end which I won't spoil for you.  I'm so excited!  I'll do my best to get the next chapter out soon, since on the 19th I am moving off to college and it'll be a while before I can get back to something approaching a normal routine. crosses fingers  But I shall try!  Oh, and if you don't like my explanation of the Precursors, well… tough! cackles madly

Disclaimer: I don't own this.

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Daxter had expected something, some test of his loyalty, anything after that creepy feeling and oath that his heart had sworn outside.

There was nothing, not a single thing whatsoever.

He felt rather foolish, standing there stupidly a few paces inside the doorway.  His eyes opened, his fists unclenched, and he continued to walk, grinning at himself.  The halls were now clearly defined, though there still was only a single way to go.  And so he walked on and on as the tunnel wound its way through the earth, part of him still expecting a surprise attack or… something.  But there was nothing but the sound of his breathing and the soft patter of his feet.

It was all rather anticlimactic.

Daxter's stomach was just starting to complain about lack of food when he found another, much smaller set of doors, these ones fully intact.  When he placed his hands on the metal to open them, there was a whirring, the seal pulled back, and they opened.

It looked like Daxter had just stepped into a junkyard.  Stuff was piled everywhere in huge stacks, some of which actually reached up to the ceiling, and Daxter had no idea whatsoever what all of it even _was_.  There seemed to be some things that served as furniture and there were mounds of what appeared to be very old clothes; other things didn't seem to have such a clear purpose, such as the shining round disks with writing on them that the ottsel couldn't even begin to decipher and the big, black boxes with dark glass in the front and cords sticking out of them.  He scrambled over and around the piles, heading for the center of the room in the hopes that there he could make some sense of the place.

It didn't help in the slightest.  In fact, there was no center of the room- it was taken up by the largest pile of junk in existence.  At a loss, he slowly threaded and clambered his way to the back of the cave.  There, at least, there was finally some empty space.  Two tunnels, etched in elaborate rune patterns, led off of the junk room.  On a random whim, Daxter chose the left path.  It was smooth and well lit, and it took Daxter only a few moments to reach the end.  Another sealed door awaited him, though much smaller than even the previous two, large enough to only emit one normally sized person through at a time.  He opened it.

Expecting the still, dead air that had awaited him behind the first airlock, Daxter choked and gagged as moldy air that smelled like decay assaulted his sensible nostrils.

It was an old library- at least what remained of an ancient library, anyway.  It wasn't nearly as large as the previous room, made smaller by the mass of bookshelves and desks which lined the room.  Water dripped down on a bunch of the bookcases from a crack in the stone ceiling, which made the wood shelving warp and many of the books rot, creating the stench that had assailed him as he entered the room.  There were hundreds of books, in various states of decay, scattered all about the room.  The library had obviously been behind the airlock to preserve the precious volumes, though by the looks of it, that goal had obviously failed years ago.  However, the rot had spread even to those books not in the water, and few of them remained in any sort of decent order.  He selected a book at random and pulled it off the shelf, eeping as it all but disintegrated in his hands.

Daxter wandered about the library for a while, looking at some books and ignoring others.  The extreme majority of the books were in a number of languages, none of which Daxter could even begin to understand, and after looking at the first few, full of their sharp and prickly symbols, he set about searching for one in his own language.  There was so much in all the books that he couldn't read, and he couldn't escape the feeling that the information that he needed to help Jak was contained within them.  But there just had to be something that he could understand that would clue him in to the solution that he so desperately sought.

The little ottsel finally found a book that he could read at the very top of one of the nearly floor-to-ceiling shelves.  Sighing, he carefully scaled the bookcase, praying that it wouldn't break underneath him.  His orange fingers carefully closed around the bound volume and he slowly drew it from its spot, hanging by one hand from the ledge above while his feet stretched down to the shelf below.  He had it almost out, and it hovered on the edge of the wood for an instant as Daxter held his breath. 

Then it fell.

The heavy volume slid from the shelf and sped towards the ground, Daxter in tow, as he refused to let go of the book.  He turned in the air to try to protect it from the inevitable impact with the packed dirt floor.  His back struck the ground and the book hit him in the stomach, knocking the air from his lungs.  He lay there for a moment, trying to catch his breath and wiggling various body parts to ensure that they weren't broken.  The instant he could, he swore at the top of his lungs for a while, sorely tempted to throw the thing across the room.  Eventually deciding against it, though not until he had given it a hearty glare, Daxter sat up and gingerly opened the cover.

He turned the pages with care, not wanting one of the few legible things in the room to be ruined by his carelessness.  He took a deep breath, praying to the Precursors in whose temple he sat, and began to read.

_Before I begin, I suppose I ought to explain myself.  To do that however, I kind of have to explain what had happened, which is my goal in writing this in the first place, so bear with me, for it will be confusing._

_For the record, my name is Sarra Jessica Mar, Third Generation since the War, and one of the members of the Mar Shelter._

_Our world… has changed.  Oh, how can I explain what it was like when I never even saw it for myself?  But I have to try.  All of the other books that have been saved were in the Old Scripts, and, though our dialects have not changed, our writing has.  Luckily, my family is one of those who believe the Old Scripts should not be lost, and I have been taught at least the Script of my language.  Fewer and fewer people can say the same nowadays, and the Old Scripts are rapidly dying out, as are any of the Old Tongues other than English, the one which I speak.  I guess… I guess that when the Survivors realized that things would never again be the same, they wanted to change everything that they could so that it wouldn't be a constant reminder of what we lost, and our written language was first to go.  Now it's the mix of odd squiggles and dots that I'm writing in now, universal for all the Shelters- at least, it was until communication was cut off.  "The past ought to stay in the past," the Survivors said, and most agree.  The Survivors refused to teach their children the Old Script, and those in turn refused to teach their children, which never taught my generation, and so it will continue, and I doubt that things will change any time soon.  I'm lucky that I'm a Mar, since then I get to learn about the world Before, but I still wish that the Survivors hadn't been so stubborn.  It's gotten to the point where speaking of the Old World is a bad as screaming a curse at the top of your lungs, and that's not how it should be._

_Ah, yes.  The War.  From the books that were salvaged and the many journals that were written during and right after the war by the Survivors, I have been able to piece together at least something of a picture of what life must have been like before the War, but I do not truly know.  The last survivor finally died two years ago, which is what motivated me to translate as much of the Old World stuff as possible before it became lost forever.  It was a time of great advancement and technology.  Man had set foot on the moon and peered down into the depths of the seas.  Tens of billions of people lived and died on the surface of the planet called Earth.  It was like any other civilization with times of peace and times of war; disease and starvation killed off many of the poor while the rich thrived in the powerful countries of the world.  I know that I do not do it justice with my description, but how do I explain it?  Perhaps you will gain a better understanding of it as you read the personal accounts that I intend to transcribe.  But this volume is devoted to history, and so I must continue.  After a brief description of the events of the past years, I will launch into more detail.  To do that, however, at least a bit of the happenings must be understood…_

_The countries of Earth had great power and even greater weapons, weapons which could destroy the entire world.  Weapons which did.  Some, predicting the inevitable outcome of a worldwide war, the third and most dangerous of its kind with the new advances in warfare, built a series of underground shelters- not many, no more than thirty in total, scattered all around the world, though the largest concentration of them were on the North American and European continents, where there was money enough to do so.  The shelters were stocked with enough food and water to last the occupants until a number of years after the end of the war.  Only a select few were to be let into the havens, which were kept secret from even the military and governments of the world.  Certain people, such as scientists, doctors, writers, teachers, cinema and sports stars, and musicians, people who held exemplary jobs and excelled at them, would be allowed in, in the hopes that their genes would be good enough to produce above-average children to repopulate the world.  No one expected the repercussions of the War to last as long, or be so bad, as they did and were… and are._

_But as the humans began destroying themselves, there was a leak in the secret shelter network and people caught on to the locations of every single shelter.  There was a rush to get to "safety" as the first bombs began to fall, and the shelters were flooded with panicked people beyond original capacity before the doors were finally closed, and even then, people were attacking the doors to the havens with frightening intensity.  But the doors, designed to withstand nuclear attack and people alike, prevailed through both._

_The nuclear weapons destroyed the surface world.  Half a million made it to the shelters underground.  The rest, totaling somewhere around sixty-four billion people, died.  The world above was swept over by the nuclear winter that the weapons created, and all animal and plant life all but ceased to exist for a time.  At the same time, the shelters were swept by sickness, for though there was enough water from underground springs, there were too many people in the shelters and disease spread like a wildfire.  Nearly half of those that survived the nuclear holocaust died, and eight shelters were completely wiped out._

_Starvation was also a problem.  Even with all of the deaths from disease, which not a single shelter went without, there were still more people than there were rations.  Thousands more died from hunger, and the bodies only added to the epidemics.  Some shelters died out entirely; a few, such as ours, found alternate means of sustenance._

_And then they came.  Part animal and part metal bests, they were given the name of "Metalheads".  Creatures with a taste for human flesh, they appeared out of nowhere and headed straight for the only place where they could find it: the shelters.  If they could get people on the surface they did, but the few left above were poisoned by the radiation and were mutating, dying faster than they could be eaten.  And so the Metalheads clustered together and found ways to enter into the shelters, where they killed the helpless inhabitants with ease- and the blood only made them hunger for more._

_We don't know, even now, where they came from.  The best guess is that they had somehow been made as a weapon and broke or set loose… or something.  All we know is that we traded one terror for another.  They had only a few forms at first: they were distinctively catlike and doglike.  But as time went on, we began to see more and more, from underwater Metalheads to flying ones.  However, there was one common link- they all resembled creatures from our world, with only very small differences.  It is highly doubtful that they developed on their own.  The fact remains that they are mutating even faster than we are, and no Metalhead species is the same as the one before.  In that way, I suppose, the Old World lives on; but given the choice, everyone alive today would take the opposite.  We fight them as best we can, but our ammunition supply, something that had not been stocked heavily, ran out years ago, and we must deal with what's within our shelters before dealing with what's without.  Due to the near constant attacks, communication has stopped between the Shelters of late, and we have had no updates for months._

_There is still so much that we don't know about the underground world that we are forced to inhabit.  Some time after the lack of rations became a serious problem, search parties were sent out into the underground tunnels leading off of the Mar Shelter.  Some walls were dug through, other tunnels excavated, and some simply wandered down; but process was slow for some time.  And then, by some miracle of fate, we found the mushrooms.  Again, we don't know where the mushrooms came from or how on earth they managed to survive in the bowels of the earth, but they were the only food we had, and so we ate them happily.  Our colony thrived for a time._

_And then we began to change.  It was slow at first, little things: our eyesight improved and we were able to see in the dark more easily, our hearing sharpened.  Then our physical bodies began to alter bit by bit, most predominantly the ears, which, after we went through some time of eating the mushrooms, began to develop a soft taper, almost like elf ears.  It was an oddity, nothing more- until the first few newborns were born with longer, pointed ears.  Because we could see no harm in it, we did nothing to stop it, though there was a suggestion to cut the babies' ears just after birth.  But no one ever got around to it, and so it gradually became accepted.  I myself was one of the children born with pointed ears, and they are much longer than they ought to be, extending out off of my head a ways.  I personally like it, and many others of my generation have been piercing their ears up the yin-yang.  Our lifespans also changed, lengthening quite considerably and preserving youth for far longer than had ever been thought possible.  It is odd that the world reached one if its dreams, prolonged youth and beauty, when the deaths of so many people and the destruction of the world still weighed so heavily on the Survivors' minds.  Anyway, the lengthening of the lifespans was nice, but it added to the problem of overpopulation, though the Metalheads were and are doing their best to assist us with that  However, we have not yet found any long-lasting effects, and it very well may be that we end up randomly croaking one day from some hidden effect of the mushrooms._

_Along with the mushrooms came the discovery of the Eco.  It's hard to describe what it is; Eco is just another thing that we simply do not know about and have no way to dissect its secrets.  Someone called it "Eco" one day and the name simply stuck, and it's now a large part of our lives.  Blue Eco was the first to be found, and its odd effects are still a mystery.  If you were to dip your and in it, your whole body would seem to accelerate, and people would have had no problem winning the Olympics if they had had it before the War.  Its white-blue colour is the perfect form of light for us, since our stocks of wood and other such fuels ran out long ago.  Pools of it are left around in various places to light our paths, and it does sink into the ground some, so that when it's removed, the ground glows with its residue for some time.  As for the Green Eco, we have no clue as of yet what it does, but I'm sure that time will tell.  It also gives off light, but not nearly as much as the Blue Eco does._

_Incredibly, politics has not been too much of an issue in our Shelter, surprising since it was such a huge point in the Old World.  Here, at least, people have accepted that the Mar family, who were pivotal in establishing this Shelter in the first place, are running things as well as can be expected.  Perhaps, even after all these years, the people are still too much in shock to challenge my family, I don't know.  But at least in this Shelter, the people are at peace with one another…_

Hours later, Daxter closed the last book in his language and rubbed his gloved hands over his head, mind reeling with all the information that he had just stuffed into it.  He had poured through everything that he could read, and had learned more about the Precursors than he had ever dreamed he would know- how they lived, the eventual split in the Mar colony, one of only three surviving Shelters, where many decided to risk it above ground, such was their longing to see the sun again, the separation that created the distinction between the Precursors and his own race, the long and bloody struggle against the Metalheads, everything except what he _needed_.  He had been particularly excited when he found information about Eco, but it barely mentioned Dark Eco other than to say that it was extremely deadly and not a single word was breathed about White Eco.  Daxter had a stinking suspicion that what he sought was in one of the foreign, not to mention ruined, books that sat on the molding shelves.

Thoroughly disgusted, he left the library and headed for the opposite tunnel that led off of the junk room.  It wound even farther underground, and Daxter spent quite some time crawling over and around stalagmites that had been forming in the rough, lightless tunnel.  Eventually he spotted a blue glow from ahead, and he slowly made his way towards it, gaining speed as there was more and more light by which to see.  The ottsel burst into the cavern at the tunnel's end and stopped dead, mouth hanging open and eyes bulging.

He stood on a narrow stone ledge overlooking a vast lake of Blue Eco, in such quantities and so bright that it hurt his eyes to look down at it.  The path ahead became a narrow bridge that stretched out across the sea and led to another dark tunnel.  Still marveling at the fortune in Eco that shimmered below him, Daxter walked over and into the next corridor.  This one didn't last as long as the previous one had, and the next glow, decidedly greenish in colour.  This time the large cavern was full of Green Eco, complete with a bridge leading on.

He kept going, coming across lakes of Yellow Eco, then Red.  By the time he reached the Dark Eco, Daxter was positively flying, despite the looming prospect of falling into the rippling darkness below him.

There was only one type of Eco left.

Daxter skidded to a halt as he finally entered the last area, eyes riveted on the prize that stood innocently at the back of the room on a high ledge.  The entire room was bathed in its slivery glow, so bright in the darkness that it made Daxter's eyes water.

A single, small jar of White Eco.

Daxter took a step forward, then another, breathless with hope.  This was _it_!  This was what would save Jak, rid him of his demon forever, finally set him _free_.  It wasn't much, but it was so strong, it was enough.  It HAD to be enough.

And then came the earthquake, a tremor so strong and sudden that it threw Daxter from his feet, disorienting him for a moment.  A rattling noise, the sound of glass wobbling over stone, made him look up in horror.

The jar of Eco lay balanced precariously on its side at the edge of its shelf, ready to fall.  With a cry, Daxter flung himself up off the ground and onto his feet.

Then it fell.  Daxter hurled his small body at hit, thinking of nothing but the precious White Eco that was streaking to the ground like a falling star.  The entire world seemed to slow down as he dove for it…

And missed.

He fell back to the ground as the jar smashed down next to him, glass shattering and Eco dousing him from head to furry foot.  The little ottsel felt a moment of crippling despair, all hope of saving Jak shattering before his eyes just as the glass did.

And then came the true pain.

It was like his dream, only a thousand times worse.  His skin burned, his bones ached, his blood boiled in his veins.  A primordial scream tore itself from his throat as his small muscles stretched and tore and bones broke from one another and reformed themselves.  Daxter's mind blanked out, completely in shock from the searing pain that swamped him and his eyes rolled up into his head until only the whites were showing.  His hands ached as they rippled and expanded beneath his worn leather gloves and the blood circulation to his fingers was completely cut off until the gloves burst at their seams; his goggles crushed his head until they slipped off over his rapidly lengthening hair.  The pain escalated and his screams lengthened until he couldn't even pause to take a breath as his skin stretched to breaking point over bones and then ripped, sending fur and blood flying through the air as he thrashed about on the ground.  And through it all, his mind refused to completely lose consciousness.

Eventually the pain receded, leaving him with only an echo in his mind that his nerves refused to forget.  After a time his eyes slowly opened, and he gazed around blearily.  There was still some White Eco around him, though it had gone dark and died where it had come in contact with his blood.

_Blood?_

He levered himself up onto his elbows, trying to pierce through the pain cloud that still remained in his mind to remember what had gone on.  And only then did he catch sight of himself.

The shock abruptly sent him spiraling down into the darkness that was so fondly calling his name.

He was human.


	11. Awakening

**A/N:** Okay, okay, you all have every right to yell at me for taking so long. I'm horrible, I know it. But I have EVERY intention of seeing this through, so there! :P Now let's focus on the important thing: JAK III IS COMING OUT EARLY NEXT MONTH! throws a party I have the demo, and the game is going to ROCK! WOOOO!

**Disclaimer:** Own this I do not.

**Dedication:** This chapter is dedicated to emeraldLINX for getting me going again. I owe ya! :D

* * *

He still hurt. It was somehow more shallow though, on the surface rather than the deep ache that he could remember having been engulfed in before. His eyes opened and he stared blankly up at the shadowed ceiling looming above him. There was a dim glow in the room still, though not nearly enough to clearly illuminate anything beyond his arm's reach.

A thought came to him at the word "arm", nagging, but Daxter subconsciously forced it down. There was something important that he should be remembering, but his foggy mind did not seem to recall what it was. A sigh escaped his parted lips, eyelids fluttered, and Daxter forced himself to his feet.

Or tried to, in any case.

The second that he pushed his weight onto the balls of his feet, his vision tunneled and dizziness swamped him. It was so high up! What was going on? Before he knew it, Daxter was smashing face-first back into the hard ground, reeling all the more for the impact. He tried to flick his tail in supreme annoyance.

But there was no tail attached to his body.

Groaning, Daxter pushed himself up to his elbows and looked back over his shoulder to see what was wrong, staring uncomprehending for a minute.

His brain shut entirely down as he finally registered what he saw.

For an agonizingly long minute, Daxter stared at himself, eyes sweeping up and down the incredibly large and pale chunk flesh that he now inhabited. A smile broke out on his face as a sudden feeling of joy bubbled up within him, and he threw back his head and began to laugh aloud, voice echoing around and around the small chamber until it seemed as though the room held a hundred laughing Daxters. But there was only one, and when his happy laughter suddenly cut off in mid-chortle, silence set in and it was just him, on his hands and knees, staring at the tiny pool of ruined Eco.

Unthinking, Daxter scrambled forward and scrabbled desperately at the White Eco, trying to collect some in his fingers and only succeeding in pushing more of it into such a thin layer on the dirt that collecting it untainted would have been impossible. Eventually, fingers sore, he stopped and sat back, staring down at the ruined Eco, the ruined chance of saving Jak, and began to curse anything and everything that he could think of, from the Precursors right on down to himself.

His tirade was interrupted twenty minutes in by the loud and quite insistent grumbling of his stomach. He trailed off, looking around him but seeing nothing of any use. Daxter sucked on his teeth as he tried to figure out what to do. Finally, he crawled over to the room's entrance, then sighed and stood. He wobbled a bit but and was still dizzy, but managed to retain his footing. Step by precarious step, Daxter taught himself to walk all over again, focused only on getting out of the damned temple.

When he felt like he wouldn't fall over at least, Daxter set off for the bridges. He got quickly to the room containing the Dark Eco and started resolutely across the stone span. But he had made it only a few feet out onto the narrow span when he made one of the largest mistakes of his life and looked down.

The world tilted and swayed alarmingly before his eyes; the rippled of shadow beneath him rippled as they moved, calling out to him, reaching up for him, prickling at his skin with such tender caresses that it hurt. Daxter felt his body wanting it, moving towards it, revulsion outweighed by the need to feel that oh so familiar touch again. Touching Jak had felt like this… He was falling, falling…

Jak…

JAK!

A strangled cry escaped his mouth as his mind cleared and he realized that he was pitching headfirst towards the lake of Dark Eco. He flailed his arms wildly and his fingers miraculously caught the edge of the ledge. His fall was abruptly halted, and he swung through the air, terrified that at any instant his fingers would lose their precarious grip and he would fall. His rocking motion slowed and he took a few deep breaths, thinking he would be okay. Then his muscles, not yet strong enough in his human form, began to give, and he did indeed begin to slip. Daxter flailed madly, clawing at the ledge, pulling himself up an inch at a time until he was laying on his stomach, arms and legs wrapped around the bridge and face squashed against it.

For a time he simply lay there, extremely uncomfortable but sure as hell glad that he hadn't passed out completely. There was no way, so soon after being doused with White Eco, that he could survive the Dark Eco. It would have torn him apart.

After a moment, he started to rise but then paused, thinking better of it. Better to crawl, and crawl he did.

The following bridges were less problematic, but still not easy, and Daxter didn't even try to walk upright. He got across without more than a couple dizzying moments, and even managed to stay on his feet all the way through the junk room, which looked significantly smaller to him now, though there was still an awful lot of stuff within it. He sighed and kept going.

It was just so odd, the way everything seemed so much smaller and was so… low! It didn't seem normal to him, but Daxter decided that he liked it just the same. He was only a bit lower standing now than he was when he used to ride on Jak's shoulder. But if he could have Jak there with him, exploring the ancient temple, well and whole, he would become an ottsel again in an instant.

The thought that Jak wasn't there thoroughly depressed him again, and, coupled with the fact that he could see no way to help Jak, it was a very surly former ottsel that approached the broken doors to the underground sanctuary.

The doors themselves looked smaller, as did the crack between them. Daxter got down on his hands and knees again and managed to slide himself sideways through the gap without sustaining massive injury. The tunnel was worse. To an ottsel, it had been completely passable; to a full-grown if rather scrawny man, it was difficult, to say the least. Had he been any larger at all, he would have been firmly stuck within the temple. As it stood, Daxter was covered from head to foot in deep scratches and bruises that made his eyes water by the time he emerged. At least the blood had helped him through the last few…

Daxter cried out and flung a bloody arm up to cover his eyes as he slid out into the open and bright midday sun assaulted his eyes. There was something wrong with the amount of light, and it took Daxter a moment to figure out what it was. It had been about this time when he had first entered the underground temple, maybe a bit earlier. Had it really been a whole day? "Go figure," he mused aloud, mouth dry from lack of water.

He managed to stumble his way to the first platform, which took him up. Again came the dizziness, but Daxter immediately sat down on the metal until the ascension was over. The next platform was decidedly less trouble as well. He threw a rock at it, took a deep breath, and took a running jump at it, praying that it would not flip over again. His feet hit and he slid, propelled by his force and the blood dripping down his body. Without bothering to slow or regain his balance, Daxter hurled himself towards the next ledge. He hit the ground hard and cried out with pain. It took him a while to stand again, but he made it through the warp gate and out the main temple doors without further incident.

He paused as the massive metal slabs ground shut behind him, marveling at the decrease in traffic, though there was still some. A sudden cough broke into his thoughts, and Daxter jumped, whirling in mid-air and nearly killing himself in the process. Pecker sat in the branches of a nearby tree, studiously avoiding looking at Daxter. Instantly, Daxter scowled, brushing away a stray strand of hair that kept falling into his eyes, pain making him irritable. "What? Here with another bright idea?" he demanded.

Pecker still refused to meet his gaze, and it was only when a light breeze picked up and made Daxter shiver that he realized why Pecker was acting funny. With everything else that was going on, Daxter had not given one single thought to his lack of clothing, especially since he hadn't _had_ to worry about clothes for years. The sound of an appreciative whistle from a passing zoomer reached his ears and Daxter turned beet red from the roots of his hair down to the tips of his toes as he located its source: a grinning, hulking, Krimzon Guard sitting that was doing his rounds. Daxter's hands snaked down to cover his more vital parts as Pecker began to snicker. Daxter practically bolted off of the ramp and, ignoring the looks he was getting, ran over to the plants and tugged at one of them until an oversized leaf came off in his hands that he could wrap himself up in. By the time he finally got it off and sufficiently flashed everyone there, Pecker was laughing so hard he was about ready to fall out of the tree he was perched in. Awkwardly holding the leaf around his thin waist with one hand, Daxter strode over to the tree, seized Pecker around the neck, and wrenched him off of the low branch that he was sitting on as Pecker squawked indignantly. "Suff it, Birdbrain, or by the Precursors, I'll stuff _YOU_!" With that, Daxter released the bird and Pecker had to flap around in midair wildly for a few seconds before he was able to right himself and fly up to a branch that Daxter couldn't quite reach without jumping.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrkkk! If you don't want my help, then, arrrrrrrrrk, you won't have it!" Pecker snapped with his funny accent, then turned and began to fly away. Dropping his leaf, Daxter lunged at the bird and managed to close his fingers around Pecker's leg. They struggled for a while, Pecker buffeting Daxter with his wings and pecking his hands whenever possible while Daxter dug his heels into the dirt and tried desperately to avoid letting go while thinking that Jak had been starting to rub off on him. "No!" Daxter cried. "Tell me what you know!"

"AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRKKKKK! Then let me GO!"

Daxter tugged once more for good measure then complied. Pecker flew to the branch again, looking deadly serious and breathing hard. Bitterly, Daxter spoke before Pecker had a chance to. "Well, your _last_ advice didn't work so well, now did it? With the White Eco gone, there's no way that I can save him now!"

"Onin did not think so, and it was not, aaaaarrrk, her who ruined it!"

Daxter snorted. "Yeah, well, a lot of _good_ it did!"

Pecker looked quite offended and immediately took off, hovering just out of Daxter's reach while he spoke. "While I doubt that, arrrrrrrrrk, there is anything a _pequeño_ man such as yourself-" (Daxter bristled at the insult) "-can do, I suggest you stop this merry little fiesta now, before things get worse." Pecker looked meaningfully into Daxter's eyes for a moment, then turned and flew away.

Daxter dodn't try to stop him, insides clenching as he realized what Pecker had meant.

He was supposed to kill Jak.


	12. Thirst

**A/N:** I **swore** to myself that I would get this next chapter out before Jak III came out or I would quit writing forever, and so here it is, in all of its creepy glory. I have made an Executive Decision that after this chapter, there are only two more and then an epilogue. It seems like so little and yet a lot at once! I'm dying to see how you guys are going to react to the end, which was the only thing that I came into this story knowing in advance. I have to say, this is a blast to write, for I'm giggling like a schoolgirl as I type out what I know will creep some of you out. They creep _me_ out, and I'm the one writing them! But it's so much fun! :-D

In a side but immensely related note, **JAK III COMES OUT ON TUESDAY!** (is bouncing all around her dorm room like a freak) Aaaaah, I'm so excited, and I can't wait to see what other fodder they give us for more creepy fanfiction! As much as I hate to say it, Jak II fanfiction ideas have been used and abused, and we need some new material! I'm so excited! I CAN'T WAIT TO PLAY IT!!!

In another side and unrelated note, I finally got through Ratchet and Clank (the first one), and I must say that it is fully the cutest thing! I promptly stole Ratchet and Clank: Going Commando from a friend and am having fun playing it. The characters haven't really reached out to me in the same way, but they didn't per se until Jak II, so we'll have to see. But I think it's fully awesome that Clank's apartment has a big thing of Jak and Daxter hanging on the wall! Good stuff, good stuff.

And now, I am going to shut up and let you get on with the fic.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this, etc.

* * *

There was a tickling on his face, then a sharp sting. His hand twitched as he tried to swat at the bug making a meal of his face, but the appendage flopped weakly back to the ground after only a few seconds, his eyes refusing to open. 

It was quiet, so quiet. Where were the zoomers? Where were the people, the lights, the constant hum of electricity? Where was the pollution smell that had assaulted him when he had first arrived in this hellhole so long ago but now was the apex of normalcy? Where were the voices of the guards, the drone of Paxis' proclamations that were all around the city?

Jak groaned, releasing the questions from his mind. It hurt to think, hurt to draw breath. Slowly, he realized that he was sprawled out on the ground on his side.

By the Precursors, he was so _thirsty_! The dist was everywhere, in his lungs, his eyes, his ears, his clothes, his hair, his throat, ground into his flesh like a second skin. A dry cough wracked his body, setting his lungs on fire and making his eyes water so that what precious little fluid was left in his body was pushed out, drying in a matter of seconds. His body ached for it, just a single swallow of liquid to ease the fire that consumed him from within even as the sun tried to bake him alive.

He pushed himself up, desperate, though the world swayed and the edges of his vision were pitch black though the day was bright enough to blind. He ran his tongue over parched lips and they split, letting fresh blood flow into his mouth. He reveled in it, sucking on the wetness and chewing on his lip to widen the wound. The lifeblood rolled down his throat like the sweetest wine.

He didn't know that he was moving until the dry ground that he stepped on refused to hold his weight and gave way beneath him, sending him tumbling down into a dry riverbed.

Blessed Precursors! There, right by his face! A spindly and weather-beaten plant had managed to survive. He practically pounced upon it, yanking it up by its roots and shoving it all into his mouth. It gagged him, made his tongue try to force it from his mouth, but he kept his teeth clenched and managed to mash it into a bloody paste and force it down his throat.

He stood abruptly, wanting more, and immediately crashed back to the ground, out cold.

He didn't know how long he lay there, and frankly, he didn't really care. He awoke as a few relatively cool somethings splashed against his closed eyelids and scorching cheeks. 

His eyes slowly opened halfway. The sky was all wrong, neither the pallid blue that accompanied the unrelenting sun of the day nor the star-speckled black of night. The chill of the drops that continued to hit his body penetrated the fog that enveloped his mind, and he opened his mouth as wide as he could, savoring the liquid that entered. He didn't know why it was raining but he didn't let it bother him, watching as the drops gradually increased until there was nothing but a curtain of falling water encasing him. The fluid that he so desperately needed revived him, restarted his brain.

Where was he? Which direction has he traveled? He didn't know. He tried to wrack his brain and remember where he had stumbled, but nothing came up. All that he knew was that he had quickly and instinctively learned how to survive- hide from the sun or burn to death, move at night or freeze to death. Don't stay in one spot for more than a day, there won't be anything left to sustain you. Hunger and thirst are life. Memories are there to be forgotten, mirages in the desert heat. There was nothing out here, nothing but the sun and sand and thirst.

He groaned along with his stomach, feeling the hunger all the more for what little he had managed to place into his stomach. He felt more alive, more in pain, and hated himself for the little part of him that refused to die.

Jak drank and drank and drank of the life-giving liquid, reveling in its blessed wetness, trying to tell himself not to drink too much. He let it fill his mouth without swallowing, then pushed it out to let the hole fill up anew. After a while he closed his mouth and just lay there, letting the water pool around his immobile form and soak into his skin.

Suddenly, he frowned and struggled to his feet. What was that sound? It was a roaring noise, like hundreds of zoomers revving their engines at once… He took an uncertain step towards the edge of the riverbed.

Too late.

A great wall of dirt-laden water came rushing towards him, slamming into him with force enough to hurl him from his feet and sweep him away before he could even comprehend what was happening. So dry was the land that none of the rainwater was absorbed and instead merely picked up the loose dirt before gathering together and becoming the flash flood that now endeavored to swallow him whole. Startled, he opened his mouth to take a breath and swallowed a massive amount of brown water before being pulled under and fighting desperately to get more air, only to find his mouth filled with water once more. Down and down into the heart of the Wasteland he was swept until after what felt like forever the swirling tide abated and he was deposited flat on his back in the mud.

He turned over and promptly threw up all the water and food in his stomach. A shaking hand came up to wipe at his mouth and he collapsed next to his bile, exhausted beyond measure from his battle with the flood. The sun was back and the land was quickly drying, much of it looking as if it hadn't seen the slightest drop of rain in seasons, much less only a few moments ago. Groaning, he pressed his face into the gently steaming mud.

Why was he here? How had he come here? Try as he might, Jak couldn't remember. There was a thick wall of shadow around those memories, and Jak felt that not being able to know what he wanted to, no matter how terrible it was, was driving him more mad than knowing would ever have done.

How long had he been out here? Days? No, it was longer than that, it had to have been longer! No matter what the demon that clawed at his mind and soul had done, he wouldn't forget.

Why, why, _why_ was he still alive? Why couldn't he remember whatever it was that he wanted to, needed to? Who was the voice in his mind, the entity in his head that clouded his memory and guided his body in ways that he could not remember?

_You know who I am._

Not words, but feeling.

"No! Leave me alone!" His voice was rough, unsteady.

It remained.

"Go!"

He felt the smothering mass of power close around his consciousness, revolting, repulsive, consuming, utterly desirable.

He jumped to his feet and dashed around in the bright sun, hands flailing madly, trying to push away the unseen force behind his eyes that danced and flickered at the edges of his vision. "Go away! I don't want you here!"

Lies.

He couldn't see, couldn't feel anything but what was in his mind.

The sound of laughter, wild, delighted laughter echoed across the empty earth. In his ears, in his mind, it was all the same, a formless darkness that strove to destroy him, a drug, an addiction.

"Speak, damn you!" he screamed, voice cracking. Still no words floated in the air for him to hear. He was being swept away in a rough tide of shadows, it was all around him, it _was_ him, waves cresting over his head, his consciousness, suffocating him, breathing life into him, pulling him under, caressing him, searing his skin until it poured into his veins like waves pulsing in time to his heartbeat.

Hunger… for more than food.

With every scrap of his will, he shoved the darkness down until he was in control of his mind. Gradually, he slowed his body's frantic motions and came stumbling to a halt.

Precursors, he was dizzy! He dug the palms of his filthy hands into his eyes, moaning softly as he swayed on his feet. The sun beat down relentlessly upon him, flaying his flesh, scorching the sand and rock he stood upon. Removing his hands, he wrenched his eyes open and began to stumble to a blessedly nearby and relatively large patch of shade underneath a rocky outcropping that called out so sweetly to him. Curling himself into a tiny ball, he shut his eyes and willed himself to enter the darkness of sleep.

He awoke with a jolt hours later, a scream tearing itself from his throat, loud, guttural, utterly feral. It echoed across the vast stretch of wasteland, rolling over the land like a sandstorm. His eyes flew open and he jumped up, only to collapse with a cry as his head came into contact with the hard rock above him. He shut his eyes and buried his head in the sand, feeling blood ooze from the new wound. Battered, bruised, half mad with pain and loss and fear, he wished fervently for the shadows to swallow him up for good.

What had he been dreaming? He tried to remember, tried to grasp the memories that kept slipping away, to no avail. They were gone, erased, just another blank spot in a sea of nothingness. All he could remember was a drowning feeling of guilt and that terrifyingly familiar voice, his own, not his own, repeating over and over again five simple words.

_I an set you free._

Free…

All of a sudden he froze, scarcely daring to breathe. Something was out there, something was _moving_, picking at the sand, very close to him. He waited, quelling the rumblings of his stomach. It slowly came closer, ever closer. He gathered his muscles carefully, preparing to spring and attack it.

So hungry…

The moment came and he pounced, leaping at the animal and using his weight to push it to the ground while his fingers scrabbled to gain a hold on it. With one swift motion, he dismembered the thing, tearing off first one leg and then another. He stuck it in his mouth, tongue seeking flesh, teeth pulling and ripping and mashing it.

Something was wrong, his skin prickled with the feeling of it.

He ate, eyes shut so as not to see the strange thing that he devoured. The taste was odd, yet extremely familiar, the smell so normal to him. But he hadn't tasted it before, not like this.

He ate more.

There was screeching; something sharp sliced into his legs. He didn't need to se where they were, could hear, could _sense_, as if something within him was reaching out to them, like calling to like. He pounced, seized, rent, slaughtered.

He ate.

His motions didn't slow as he gorged himself, but his eyes opened, were forced open, opened of their own will to fix upon the prey.

His stomach turned over.

He ate.

The blood slipped down his throat, thick, heavy, not blood at all, filling, revolting.

The last squirmed in his fingers, biting him even as it screeched for help, for release, for salvation.

He shoved it into his mouth and crunched.

He gagged as he chewed, forced it from his mouth, kept on chewing. He did not want it, put his fingers in his mouth and pulled it out, drawing it up from the back of his throat, his body never moving. He tried to force it out, tried to regain control, to no avail. Over and over his teeth sank into the Metalhead, long after it ceased to move and fight. Eco oozed around his form, out over his lips, the tainted Dark Eco that was their blood, not the pure Eco that he could feel in the ground, above ground, somewhere around him.

He thirsted.

His hand moved up, his tongue flicked out and ran along his thin fingers, clearing them of the remains.

There were no more Metalheads. His stomach was content; he was full.

And yet he wasn't. He hungered for something else.

No, no, it wasn't him it was _him_, it was the Other!

_No!_

It was him.

As the moon traced its path across the sky and the sharp silence of the deep chill encased the Wasteland, he sat there, eyes dead and staring at nothing, diluted Eco slipping and sliding around him.

His glee was smothering.

* * *

Daxter wandered the city in a daze, not truly seeing anything. His mind kept repeating the implications over and over again. It was night, he had been out here all day, tracing and retracing the same paths through the city. Life in Haven City had resumed, albeit meekly, but Daxter felt as though he were worlds away. He had clothes, had taken them from some drunk passed out in the street. 

It didn't matter.

Jak… was alive. He wouldn't die, _couldn't die,_ not after all they had been through. He couldn't.

He was alive, and he was out there alone.

Daxter suddenly shivered in the cool night and raised his eyes to the unfeeling moon.

He could have sworn he heard Jak's demon laughing.


	13. Regret

**A/N: Whew, bet you didn't think you'd hear from me again, eh? But I cannot abandon my baby, not when I'm so close to the end! Sorry for the ungodly long wait! Finals and all came up and whomped me all of a sudden. :P But I am now 18, and, as my best friend says, legal. That's always a cause for celebration! ;)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own this… but I am listening to Coheed and Cambria, an AWESOME band. I thought the guy was a girl at first, but the more I listened, the more I fell in love with his voice. And they're so diverse! You ought to go listen to the CD at a music store or something! I don't own them either, though. Damn. x.x**

**

* * *

**

Daxter stood and stared down at Jak's weapons. He didn't remember having come back to the Naughty Ottsel, but here he stood, mind filled with memories and guilt.

He was going to do it. At least, he was going to try. There never had really been any doubts in his mind. He owed Jak that, if nothing else.

Somehow, he just could not bring himself to call upon the Precursors for strength.

It was too cruel! What was it about Jak that forced him into the role of the hero, made him always be the sacrifice? There were others, there were always others, so why _him_? The entirety of their lives, his and Jak's, had been leading up to this place, torture and loss and madness and pain, all for people who weren't their own, and for what? So other _people_ could bring down their city in the Metalheads' stead while the very stuff that had made their hero, that gave him the power to save them, was driving him mad, had driven him out of the city that he had saved and left him to die? What had Jak _done_ to deserve that?

Damn them.

It didn't matter that they really were Jak's people, Jak's own relatives and townspeople, because they weren't, not really. Sandover was their home, just as much Jak's as it was his. Home would never have let this happen to one of their own, not like this.

And he bore just as much guilt as every single one of the people in this bedamned city.

He had tried to find Jak. Oh, Precursors, how he'd tried! But what was he supposed to _do_, a furry animal who no one would pay any attention to except to glance down as their boots collided with him or stepped on his tail? The hulking _things_ in red that had taken Jak away were _everywhere _in the city, looking with their inhuman masks at every single thing, on alert, no doubt because of Jak.

He still remembered clearly his first day there, how Jak had suddenly been whisked away and he had just stood there, spewing his false promises and wondering that the hell was going on while the city all but _roared_ around him, sound exploding in his ears. Panic, confusion, shock, all assailed him until he couldn't feel which was which and he just stood there, staring at the spot where he had lost Jak until a hard boot kicked him and sent him flying into a wall. He had just lain where he had fallen as the sun set and night came, praying to anything and everything that would listen that Jak would gently touch his back and wake him from his nightmare with that gentle smile of his and the glint in his eyes that meant that it was time for another adventure.

But Jak had never come back, and Daxter had been left to fend for himself in a terrible city that never would have existed, not even in his most nightmarish dreams.

It hadn't taken him long to realize that he would get no help from the citizens. They were terrified of the guards, and they had reason to be. His second day, Daxter had managed to find his way over to the Bazaar area, lured by the scent of food. He paused in front of the food stands, gazing curiously at the developing spectacle, others around him stopping to do the same. A young, dirty boy had suddenly darted out of the crowd and snatched a fruit from one of the food stands, then fled- straight towards Daxter. But before the boy could get to him and melt into the crowds, he had been caught by one of the guards, and barely before Daxter could have done so much as blink, two others had materialized out of nowhere. Many of those in the crowed departed instantly as the number of guards increased. As Daxter and a few brave others watched in horror, the three men had thrown the child to the ground and began kicking him. The kid was collapsed on the ground, screaming and crying.

Daxter winced with each blow that fell.

The scream sharpened as one of the boy's ribs cracked under the guard's boot.

No one in the crowd moved.

A heavy foot slammed down on the boy's outstretched hand and twisted, the crunch of bones not quite obscured by the sound of the wailing cry.

The eyes of the people in the crowd strayed; many turned and walked away as the beating continued.

The screaming had stopped, replaced by shuddering, bubbling gasps for air as the boy choked on his own blood.

And still no one moved.

_He's dying_, Daxter had thought to himself. _He's dying, and no one is going to help him._

There was a loud, sickening crunch as one of the guards slammed his foot into the boy's face, laughing.

No one moved to help the child.

Not even Daxter.

The boy's face was faced in his direction, mashed, bloody, unrecognizable as the face of a child.

The guards had tired of their toy and walked away, leaving him broken and dying in the middle of the street, crushed hand still reaching out to the piece of food that had fallen. Daxter had felt burning bile rising in his throat as he looked at the boy, bloodied and matted hair falling into the broken face. His eyes were dead, accusing, staring at him, staring through him, until Daxter had to look away or he would have been sick on the spot.

The boy died.

There had still been a few people paying attention to the murder while pretending not to be. A thin, grimy man calmly stepped around the boy's body and scooped up the piece of fruit, pleased with himself.

The sudden sound of a shot being fired and the man's strangled cry had informed the people of the city that the guards were definitely still paying attention. There were screams as the guards fired into the crowd at random, and Daxter had nearly been trampled as everyone fled in panic. Daxter, too, had turned and fled with all the rest.

Hungry, terrified, and frightened, he had run and run and run until he collapsed in a corner and fell into a troubled sleep. Again and again that night he saw the boy being beaten to death, and the face that stared at him accusingly, blaming him for his death, was Jak's.

Time had seemed to drag and yet fly by. He had lived by stealing food or starving through hellish weeks and months. He had learned to keep his mouth shut and his ears open whenever a member of the Krimzon Guard was around, and, because of his small size, ended up hearing much of what was happening in the city, and consequently knew where to avoid and when, something that saved him from walking into a deathtrap more than once. He had deluded himself, told himself that any day Jak would come waltzing up to him with a sheepish grin on his face and they would walk out of this hell and find their way home.

Yeah right.

It was almost funny, really, how hard he had clung to the belief that Jak would just materialize out of thin air and whisk him away to safety just in the nick of time. He would never, ever forget the feeling that had flooded through him when he had heard news of Jak at last. A completely random and innocuous conversation between two guards who didn't see him hiding in a pile of trash, a few blissful words that struck home in a heart that had become devoid of hope.

That night Daxter had cried, out of relief, out of pent-up frustration, out of the strength of the knowledge that there was something he could do, that he hadn't just sat back and lost Jak forever.

Daxter sighed, eyes drifting shut.

Once he had found out that Jak was still alive, it hadn't taken any time for Daxter to get to him, so great was his drive. It had been ridiculously easy to get into the KG fortressm especially with his size. For all their cruelty, the Krimzon Guard were incredibly dense. Daxter doubted that the Baron could have gotten so many to follow him unquestioningly otherwise.

And oh, Mar, how he had felt when he had seen Jak! He had been almost unrecognizable, so different from the Jak that he had grown up with.

Something inside him had quailed at the sight of his long-time friend. He had looked so much stronger, even lying there on the table dead to the world and clothed in tattered, dirty rags. Oh, he had always been muscular before, but his frame was larger, heavier, more buff; and yet, there was still a strong hint of his former petiteness in his build. But it was more than that. There was a new aura that surrounded him, a cloud of anger and power that clung to him where it had not existed before.

He remembered hopping up onto his friend's chest and looking down at him for an instant that seemed like an aeon, taking in the angular, mature face that had aged at double, triple the speed it should have, the long hair that swept back from his face to frame the cream color of his neck against the cold steel table. Jokes, light words had come bubbling to his lips as his mind processed what he had seen.

And by Mar, his voice… it transformed the energy around him into a tangible thing, demanding attention, demanding to be heard. It had surprised him when Jak spoke, it truly had. Granted, it had not startled him nearly as much as Jak's sudden transformation had. He had been scared, terrified, but only for an instant. Jak would never have hurt him, _never_, demon or no. For when Daxter had looked into the black depths of his eyes, had seen his tiny form reflected in the dark pits of their murderous depths, he saw his friend, deep down inside, terrified, reaching out to him.

That was why he would go. That was why he'd give up everything. Because no matter what the demon did to him, Jak was still alive within him, and Daxter would save him.

He was dallying too long. Daxter opened his eyes and sighed, picking up Jak's gun and testing its weight. He knew how to shoot- when he was sitting in a zoomer, ottsel-sized and not having to worry about moving while he aimed. But being normal-sized and having to be able to run and pay attention to everything around him was a totally different matter. He knew that he really ought to have gone to practice for a while in the gun course, but he didn't want to waste the time. Every minute that he was standing there was another minute that made it harder for him to find Jak.

Daxter fired the scatter gun once, surprised by how little kickback there was compared to when he had fired it in Orange Lightning formm. His finger found and flicked the handy button on the side of the gun and the weapon shuddered and changed in his hands. He squeezed the trigger again, bullets thunking as they embedded themselves in the unfortunate wall. Another click; this time, he held the trigger down, inhaling the blue smoke while casings littered the ground at his feet. He realized that there was a grim smile on his face.

No wonder Jak liked this.

He stopped his assault on the wall and set the gun down in order to reach for the holster that Jak usually wore. There was a disconcerting moment as Daxter fumbled with it, trying to adjust it to his lanky frame, ending up completely tangled up in the leather straps while the metal ring tried to get as much of his hair to go through it as it could. But eventually he got it and slid the Morph Gun into its place on his back.

He walked down the stairs, trying to formulate a plan. Walking out of the city would not do, not at all. He needed some sort of car or something so he could carry enough food and water to find Jak and get… somewhere. The zoomers weren't covered, and he would fry before he could do much of anything. He needed something covered…

A wicked grin curved his lips. He and Jak had never tried _that_ before. That might've been one of the few KG vehicles that they had never tried to steal…

He was still smirking when he walked into the main room of the Naughty Ottsel. "Tess, babe, I need a favor."

"What is it, Daxxie?" she asked, eyes huge as they looked at him. Daxter could tell that he looked different even from his usual, non-orangified self. Boy, had it been a surprise for her when she had first seen him! Daxter still believed that he was partly deaf from her squeal.

"I need some food and water bagged up and ready ta go ASAP."

Adorable confusion stretched itself across her face. "How much?"

"Ah…" Daxter paused. "A bunch."

As she disappeared into the back room, Daxter leaned an elbow on the counter and lounged for a while, serious but not really thinking of much of anything at all. He ran his tongue over his front teeth absently, thinking that he wanted to sit down but not really wanting to at the same time. He stared at the room, taking it all in but not really seeing a single thing.

The next thing he knew, his face was being smashed into the squishy warmth of Tess' breasts as she enveloped him in a massive hug, squealing his name as she buried her face in his hair.

"Mmu mmff mreeffe…"

"Oh! Sorry!" She giggled and released her hold a bit, although there were bright tears shining in her eyes.

"You're crazy, you know that?" she demanded, the effect of her suddenly stern demeanor ruined by the great sniff that punctuated her sentence.

Daxter patted her back awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. "Uh… babe?"

Tess pulled back a bit more and looked into his eyes. "Can I help, Dax?"

Was he really so transparent? Well, with a big-ass gun strapped to his back and sturdy clothes on, asking for food and water to go off somewhere, it seemed so.

Daxter opened his mouth to tell her no, but the sight of her perfectly pink lips wobbling as she read the denial in his face stopped him. Maybe there _was_ something she could do after all…

A half hour later, Daxter "stealthily" hauled his giant bag of foodstuffs along behind him, on one side of the giant pillar that stood in the bay while Tess waltzed around the other, turning on every ounce of her girly charm and fully set on her job of luring away the guard that sat in the otherwise empty transport ship in the bay. Daxter paused just out of the KG's sight, listening as the sounds of Tess' giggles floated to his ears. He snuck a glance around the tower and almost laughed as he watched Tess scoot closer to the obviously flustered KG, who had gotten down out of the transport. She linked her arms in his and drew him around the pillar in the opposite direction of Dax and his bag batting her eyelashes and giggling all the while. The driver's side door to the transport stood open, the guard obviously never having thought that anyone would be brave enough- or stupid enough- to steal it.

Daxter glanced to each side to ensure that no more of the Krimzon Guard had decided to waltz over in his direction, then dropped his bag and darted into the transport. It took him a terrifyingly panicky moment to locate the lever that opened the hatch, but his questing fingers eventually caught it and he slipped back out and ran back to his bag of provisions. He hauled the bag over to its destination quickly, though his back was tense and he expected at any moment to feel a bullet go ripping through his flesh. He paused before he tried to lift the sack into the back of the transport, looking over his shoulder at Tess and the KG… who was about to look his way.

He froze like a yakow in the headlights, panicked. His eyes squeezed shut and his face scrunched up, waiting for the inevitable pain. One eye gradually opened when it didn't come, and Daxter nearly collapsed with relief as he saw Tess slide a hand up the brute's chestplate and up to his mask, turning his head away from Daxter. Mar bless the girl!

With a couple of grunts, Daxter managed to heave the bag into the transport, then fled to the front and jumped in. The hatch closed and the former ottsel gripped the controls. The craft wobbled as it rose into the air, higher and higher until Daxter could see over the wall and out into the wasteland beyond, a desert that stretched out to the horizon and beyond. He didn't look back, he couldn't. He didn't want to see the price that Tess would pay for helping him.

Barely able to swallow for the lump in his throat, Daxter slammed on the gas and shot out over the walls and into the waiting desert.

Mar guide his path.


	14. Relief

A/N: Woah, the world is grinding to a halt, I updated! ;-) This is the last chapter of AE. I might do an epilogue, but I might not, either. This has been a lot of fun and I adore you all:-D And I'm now going to shut up so you can get on with it, Precursors know you've waited long enough, eh?

Disclaimer: I do not own Jakkie or Daxxie.

One last thing: There is a scene in here that sounds like something rather naughty is happening to a certain someone. I did NOT have that in mind when I wrote it, but it seems to sound that way, so if that's what you want to read into it, well, you'll only want to kill me all the more. Just thought I'd forewarn you. ;-)

* * *

The world spun before his eyes, black clouds rolling across his vision. The day was dark to him, the green sun failing, burning pitifully weakly. He dimly felt himself moving, walking, sliding around on the sand that he had long since ceased to feel beneath his feet.

He felt _him_.

_He_ was there, in his mind, a pulsing, throbbing entity. _He_ was there, in his mind, dominant, in control, keeping him from thinking, seeing, understanding, _being_. _He_ was there, in his mind, playing with him, ruining him for _his_ own twisted pleasure. _He_ was there, in his mind, implanting into him a sickly _lust_ for blood, for death, for the sweet, burning, corrupting taste of Eco.

He gathered himself, pushed _him_ back, picked himself up off the ground he didn't even remember falling to in the first place. He built a wall in his mind, seeing it before his eyes, broken and with gaping holes everywhere, ready to collapse forever at the slightest puff of breath from the wolf.

Not that it had ever stopped _him_ before.

He walked on.

He wanted to die. Why couldn't he die? He didn't understand. He was _living_ out here, out here where even the Wastelanders didn't tread lightly, if you could call this a life. His mouth was so dry that his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, his lips so cracked that blood ran sluggishly and constantly from valleys of dry flesh, giving him his only source of liquid. His stomach no longer cared. It had been so long since he had eaten that all consuming anything solid would do would make be to him sick, and it wasn't like the had the water in his body to digest the food anyway. He was no longer hungry in the slightest; food seemed more of a burden than a necessity. He was exhausted battered by the drastic elements, not sleeping for fear of the nightmares that _he_ fed him whenever his eyes shut.

So why wasn't he dead?

_Why_?

He gave another feeble shove against _him_, physically halting his footsteps in a desperate effort to concentrate. One hand rose, filthy, nails jagged, bloody.

He gathered his strength and slashed at the flesh on the underside of his arm as hard as he could.

"Ah-ah-ah…"

His hand stopped the instant that his nails made light contact against his skin, his voice, no, not his voice, _his_ voice silky and heavy against the silence of the Wasteland.

"Can't have that now, can we?" The voice slithered through the air to reach his ears. His mouth closed. His voice? No. Was it from his throat that it had come? Yes. _His_ voice. Yes, yes, yes.

Jak laughed bitterly. It didn't take a genius to see what his demon wanted him for, just forcing his body to live without regard to the spirit within. _He_ wanted nothing more than a shell to reside in so that _he_ had physical form. Even Jak had enough of himself left to realize that.

Visions of dead Daxter, dead Keira, dead Erol, dead Torn, dead Ashelin, dead Daxter, dead Sig, dead Vin, dead Tess, dead Daxter, dead Krew, dead Praxis, dead Samos, dead Daxter, dead Daxter danced before his eyes like a never ending holographic commlink transmission. He didn't care any more, laughed at them, smiled as he saw Daxter's throat slit and Keira's head torn from her body. Blood was everywhere. Blood was nice. Nice, nice, nice. It was warm, not cool like he wanted, but it was fresh, soothing to the mouth.

Jak tilted his head and blinked, staring in confusion straight ahead of him. He couldn't see anything! He put his hand out and it came in contact with stone, so he turned his head and looked behind him. He was sitting, apparently nose to nose with a wall, for the burning sand stretched on away from him. The sun had decided to go to sleep, and the moon had come to take his spot. Yes, there were his footprints, leading him straight here. He followed the line of prints back to himself, then turned back to the wall. So _that's_ why it was so dark.

Jak stood, almost giddy. His demon was there, oh _yes_, he was always there. But he was just sitting there doing almost nothing, like Jak had been sitting there in front of his wall.

Jak reached out a hand to touch said wall, making sure that it really was there and was in fact solid. It hadn't gotten up and walked away, and Jak smiled at it. "Hello," he greeted it, heavily sunburned face feeling funny as he spoke. "What are you doing all the way out here, hmm?" He looked to both sides as he waited for a response, wondering exactly how large it was. Wouldn't all that surface area in the sun get awfully hot? It probably had some method of cooling itself down or something.

He got tired of waiting for a response from his gigantic friend and finally patted the wall reassuringly. "It's okay if you don't wanna talk, I understand. By the way, what's your name? My name is… Jak. Yes, that sounds about right. But who are you? Oh, still don't wanna talk. Okay, I can try to guess! Hmm…" Jak babbled on and on as he picked a random direction and began walking. One hand lightly trailed along the face of his companion and Jak all but skipped along over the sand, humming to himself once he got bored with speaking. He was so glad to finally have a friend, somebody out here to talk to besides himself!

He suddenly gasped and stumbled to a halt as the wall snagged his shirt, tearing off the entirety of his sleeve- or what was left of it, in any case- and gouging a gash in his arm. He rubbed the offending body part. "You know," he commented dryly with a fake pout on his face, "if you really wanted some of me that badly, all you had to do was ask." He sneezed from the dust in his nose then shrugged. "You can keep it, though." Jak walked forward a few steps, looking out at the sand, and went to lean his back on his big friend.

And fell straight through.

Miffed, Jak looked around him from his position on the ground. "Cave!" he suddenly cried, realizing what it was. He hauled himself to his feet. It was nice and cool in here, just warm enough but not too hot, not too hot at all. Almost against his will, Jak began walking deeper into the darkness.

His good mood evaporated as he felt his demon stir, and he frowned. "Go away!" he screamed, voice echoing mockingly down the lightless tunnel.

"No."

He clutched at his head, eyes screwed shut, trying desperately to beat the dark force back. He had succeeded! But no, he was moving, walking, running through the pitch black shadows to something that he desired above all else. He licked his lips, nostrils flaring. He could hear it, smell it, see it dancing before his eyes. He wanted it, he wanted it-

"No!"

Yes, yes, yes, it was all his, it would solve all his problems, that blessed liquid. He dimply heard something dripping, splashed through a deep pool of water, didn't care. The wall reached out and clawed at him; he heard something rip, felt another new burning in his side, ignored it. Dark electricity flickered over his ashen skin; there was a pressure both within and without his skull, strong enough to crack his bones.

_There!_

He skidded to a stop inside a cavern, a grin curving his lips even as his mind screamed against it. His skin stretched, shifted, neither his nor his demon's. He knelt. Hands, his own, reached out towards the liquid shimmering darkly on the floor, dipped into the darkness.

"No! No! No! No!" he screamed, the words never making it to his lips. He was drowning, smothered by the mass of dark glee that smashed over him like a fifty-foot tidal wave.

His cupped hands emerged, liquid pooled within his palms. He wanted it so badly, he wanted it- NO!- yes, oh _yes_, it was his, all his, _only_ his. His head lowered, his mouth opened.

He drank.

He threw back his head and screamed, clawing at his throat. It was like a writhing snake that sank into his stomach, fangs scorching all the way, burning, flooding through his veins like a poison until the eerie light glowed through his skin, shooting out of his body. There was laughter, tangible, elated laughter, _his_ voice, not from Jak's throat. He couldn't see; there was a great stretching within his body and mind. His body bulged, quivered, screams never ceasing.

One word entered his ears above the noise of his screams, one deadly, whispered word. "_Free._"

Even the darkness did not offer him respite then.

* * *

Daxter sighed loudly as he flopped back in his chair, burning eyes still tirelessly sweeping back and forth, back and forth over the sand.

He was beginning to lose hope.

The ship groaned and shuddered violently, dipping dangerously before resuming its path. "No!" Daxter yelled, slamming his fists down onto the control panel in frustration. "Work, damn it!" His stomach grumbled as well, only adding to his irritation.

Time was almost up.

It had been a week and a half. Water was running low, so much that he severely rationed it at all times, drinking only when it was absolutely necessary. He was beginning to worry about his food stores as well.

He was exhausted. The ship was going to run out of fuel in an hour or two, maybe three if he was extremely lucky. And he had covered maybe, _maybe_ a fifth of the desert, and likely not even that.

And what if he had managed to go the right way, but had missed Jak somewhere along the lines? Daxter gnawed on his lip as doubts plagued his mind. What if he had gone in completely the wrong way and Jak was hundreds of miles on the opposite direction? Which was worse? He had found plenty of Metalheads, often bigger than two or three of his ships put together; but of Jak, not a trace.

The ship sputtered and began losing altitude. "Nooooo!" Daxter howled, resuming his former activity of pounding desperately on the controls in case it did something magical and made the ship keep working. However, the ship decided that enough was enough and it was going to throw in the towel, and Daxter was thrown across the cab to slam painfully into a metal wall as the ship slammed into the sand. It skidded, slowly losing speed, then hit a rock and preformed some acrobatics in the air, finally smashing back down with the roof where the floor ought to have been and a very unhappy passenger splayed awkwardly in a corner.

Daxter remained where he was for a while, sprawled out on the roof, trying to make sure that he really had stopped moving. He hated crashing. If Jak had been there, it wouldn't have been so bad, as he could have clung desperately to his friend as he howled wildly like normal, impairing Jak's steering. He wasn't entirely sure what good that would have done, but it would have made _something_ better.

At the thought of Jak, he pushed himself to his feet. Greaaaaaaaaat. The ship had died, rendering Jak as good as lost. A wave of despair washed over him, and he ran his arm across his eyes.

No. It wasn't over, not yet. He had two legs. He had a little bit of food, a little bit of water. He had a gun. He would rather die walking or be eaten by a Metalhead than give in there and then. Daxter felt his face twisting into a grim smile. This was the end of the road, the precipice above the burning Eco pool. Life was over, gone, out of the question.

There was no life without Jak.

As he prepared to set out on his down, Daxter's mind wandered. Why? Why? Why Jak? Why now? Why like _this_? Why was the one who had saved them suffering so? And why… why did being a hero mean that they had to lose themselves to save others? Was it really worth it? Did the others even deserve to be saved in the first place? The belief that the hero was the oh-so-brave soul that selflessly sacrificed himself to free others was a load of fresh yakow manure. Who chose the hero in the first place? Others. So then why was the hero the one who had to suffer, and not the ones that chose him?

He had never felt like this before. It was strange… Disregard he had felt before, annoyance, sever dislike, even; but the emotion that coursed through his veins was hate. Pure, unbridled hate. Bitter hate for life and whatever decreed that they had to go through all this, hate for Keira and Ashelin and Torn and most of all, Samos. Samos, who had been there all along. Samos, who had tossed Jak into the frying pan when he could have done more. Samos, who had sat back and just watched as others suffered.

With a start, Daxter realized that he had been staring out of the front window of the transport (though it was currently half embedded in the sand), glaring out at the desert as he thought. With a sigh, he let his thoughts go and began packing a small bag of provisions to take. That done, he grunted as he settled its weight over his shoulders. It was much heavier than he would have liked, but he was hesitant to leave any of it behind. Daxter picked up Jak's gun, rescuing it from the spot on the floor where it had fallen. He stared down at it for a second, then raised his head and walked over to the door.

He punched the button for it to open, then again as nothing happened. He scowled when it didn't work, pushing it again and again. Finally, he gave up on the button and slammed his shoulder into the metal, manually shoving it open an inch at a time. Daxter finally squeezed through the gap as soon as he could and jumped down, feet sending a cloud of sand into the air as his boots slammed into the ground.

The heat rolled over him like a tidal wave. He gasped in shock, holding his hands above his eyes in a fruitless effort to try to block the light of the sun. The yellow sand caught the light, trapped the heat, and reflected it back so that Daxter was being boiled alive from both above and below. Within moments Daxter was covered in sweat, losing water at far too quick a rate for his peace of mind. "Now or never," Daxter murmured to himself, and then proceeded to choke on the dust.

He slowly circled the dead transport until he was facing the distant mountain that loomed on the horizon, the original place Daxter had planned on flying around. Better to head there than just trudge through miles of empty sand, but… was it a mirage? He prayed to Mar that it was not. "Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to the mirage we go…" Daxter sang half-heartedly as he tried to get himself into a better mood. The song did nothing to help.

The green sun slowly moved across the sky and finally sank below the horizon, and the former ottsel almost wept in relief. Heat still radiated from the sand even as the sky turned to black, but compared to the day, it was like a walk in the park. He set down his bag and rubbed at his shoulders, wincing. He was so, so exhausted and just wanted all of it to go away. He fumbled at the bag and extracted a half-empty water bottle, ready to pass out. He pulled off the cap and lifted it to his lips. Despite his best intentions to take only a single sip, the entire contents of the bottle swept down to his stomach.

Groaning, Daxter tossed the empty bottle away and swore that it wouldn't happen again, though that was the third time of the day that he had drunk more than he had meant to. Without eating any food, he wrapped his arms around Jak's gun and all but fell over into the sand, eyes shutting and an exhausted and mercifully dreamless sleep gracing his mind.

He awoke all too soon, shivering. The heat of the day had dissipated and the stars shone down on the dark desert. He was covered in goosebumps, his body wracked with shivers, his breath puffing out in a cloud of white frost. "W-what t-t-the h-e-e-l-l?" Daxter stammered, chattering teeth making it difficult to speak. As tired as he was, Daxter forced himself to his feet, stamping on the sand and rubbing violently at his arms to try to warm himself. No freaking wonder nothing but Metalheads could live out here with these extreme temperatures!

Though his muscles screamed in protest, Daxter placed his bag back over his aching shoulders, and, Jak's beloved gun in hand, he set out once more. The going was much easier this time despite his exhaustion since the sun was gone, and Daxter decided that day could go to hell and he would travel at night. He squinted off at the horizon, trying to make out the mountain that he was supposedly heading for. He could just barely see a dark squiggle off in the distance, and did it look slightly larger? Yes, it did, but not much. Under the light of the unfeeling moon and net of stars, he walked.

And walked.

And walked.

It wasn't until the sky began to lighten that Daxter awoke from his monotonous stupor. Raising his head from its hanging position, Daxter blinked at the sky and licked his dry and cracking lips. Without a word, without so much as a sigh, he collapsed onto the sand, gazing around blearily. Day… that meant stop… The bag dropped to the ground and Daxter burrowed his body down into the sand to get away from the coming oven. Filthy hands pulled the bag over his head, and Daxter slept.

Days and nights passed and Daxter still walked on. He walked in a constant state of exhaustion without respite, exhaustion even sleep couldn't fix. And slowly, ever so slowly, he drew closer. At one point during one of the previous days, he had almost burst into frustrated tears as he looked at the mountain which never seemed to draw any closer. Water was gone, and the food was absolutely pointless without it.

And then he arrived.

It was so unexpected by the time he finally stood within only a few minutes' distance away from the rock face that Daxter didn't quite know what to do. He rubbed in vain at his filthy face, looking left, then looking right. The wall stretched away in either direction. With a sigh, he shot an uneasy glance at the horizon, wondered vaguely why he hadn't seen any Metalheads over the last couple of days. But the sun was the more immediate threat, for it would be cresting the horizon much too soon, and he needed to find whatever it was he had come here for.

That thought brought his world to a grinding halt. What _was_ he here for, anyway? Obviously, to find Jak. But Jak could be on the other side of the world, who was to say that he was _here_, by _this_ random mountainish rock? The Precursors weren't that kind, they had proven as much a hundred times over. It all came down to chance. Chance ruled his life. And so he went left.

He knew he should have gone right.

All too soon the sun was overhead, beating down upon his already burned and blistering skin. Jak's gun drooped from his hands, the barrel tip dragging in the sand. His legs felt like jelly, he was beyond parched. Walking was the only thing he could do. The now-empty bag he left behind; there would be no more hiding in the sand, waiting for a slow death. He would walk until he passed out where he stood, and then the sun could claim him. He would not fight it.

Something tickled in his throat and he took a deep breath of the burning Wasteland air, which only caused him to begin choking. Barely able to breathe, Daxter dropped the gun and put a hand out to the wall in an attempt to keep himself upright. The only problem was that the wall was no longer there.

Daxter landed on the ground painfully, a groan forcing its way up from his bone-dry throat. He blinked in confusion, staring into the darkness, not quite comprehending what he was seeing. Exhausted and unwilling to move, Daxter let his head flop to the floor, ready to simply lay right where he was.

And then he heard it.

It was faint, but it was there. Daxter's ears twitched, the sound not fully registering at first. _The sun must've fried my brain…_ he thought dully. _I'm starting to hear strange things._ And finally, the sound clicked.

Drip.

Drip.

_WATER!_

And he was up, moving, forcing exhausted muscles to run, heedless of anything else. He ran blindly through the dark, smashing into walls left and right, not caring. The sound was like a drug, filling his mind, spurring him on. He tripped, fell, got up, tripped again.

And as he smashed into the ground this time, there was a comforting splash.

Daxter managed to crawl forward a few more inches, slapping his palms onto the surface just to hear the comforting splash. He pressed his face fully into it, sucking it into his mouth like a drain, downing it in great gulps one after another after another. He drank until his vision was going black from lack of air, then jerked his head up. As he pulled in air his stomach roiled and all of that blessed liquid came right back up. Daxter turned away from the pool and gagged, the meager contents of his stomach pouring themselves out as he coughed and choked. He finally stopped and raised a shaking hand to wipe at his mouth, grateful that he had managed to get away in time so that he didn't pollute what remained in the pool.

Hesitantly, Daxter lowered his face to the water once again, forcing himself to take only a couple of careful gulps. That accomplished, he simply lay right where he was, half in the pool and half out, and slept.

He awoke some time later, groggily remembering where he was. He took another sip of water and then sat up, head spinning. He still felt like he was about to croak, but it was better. A bit. Eyes finally adjusted to the darkness (or more like finally paying attention to his surroundings), Daxter looked around him. There was a whole lot of nothing. Daxter was about to dismiss the black walls and go back to his lovely water when he suddenly realized that some thing was different.

He could see.

Not much, granted, but he could see a little bit… and was that direction lit more than the other? He turned around to check, then looked back. Yes, yes it was. There was light coming from somewhere…

He caught something out of the corner of his eye, a small lump of darkness oddly different than the rest. He walked over to it curiously, then reached out and plucked it from its spot on the wall.

It was cloth. Ragged, stiff with blood, but cloth.

And Daxter knew whose it was, by one thing and one thing only.

It smelled.

No, not only smelled, _reeked_ with a terrible, familiar scent, such a hauntingly gagging stench from something so small. And familiar, so familiar. Daxter knew that smell, oh, how he knew that smell.

Dark Eco.

Dark Eco when it came from Jak.

With a start, Daxter realized that he could now see where the light was coming from. It was bright in the utter darkness, too bright for what he instinctively knew it was. It called to him even from this distance, and he found himself walking towards it, the piece of cloth still clutched in his fingers. He licked suddenly dry lips, shaking.

Jak was here.

He knew it, knew it like he had never known anything else in his miserable little life. He had chosen right. His fists clenched at his sides. He could save Jak. He would.

And he stepped into the cavern.

He didn't know what he expected to find, but nothing was certainly not it. He peered around, scanning the small cavern. A pool of Dark Eco lay on once corner, providing the light, but that was it. Zip. Zero. Zilch. A crushing disappointment settled into his chest. There weren't any exits other than the one he had just come in through. Maybe it had been a long time since Jak had been here, or maybe he had just recently and Daxter had just missed him, or maybe he had never been there at all and Daxter was so wanting to believe that he could save Jak that he was imagining things that didn't exist. The cloth slipped from his fingers and fluttered to the ground. Bitter tears stinging his eyes, Daxter turned to leave the cavern.

And froze.

"Well hello," the voice purred, black eyes glinting wickedly in the ethereal violet light.

_Jak_

No. The demon.

Not Jak.

But he was.

The demon approached him; Daxter shrank back and groped at his back for Jak's gun, which he suddenly realized wasn't there. An ashen hand tipped in ebony claws shot out to grip him around the neck, lifting him off the ground so that his feet dangled beneath him. The eyes, so intense, so cold, so _delighted_, bored into his own. Daxter tried to cry out as he struggled, tried to scream Jak's name over and over to make him wake up and come back to himself, just like he always did. Always.

"Mine." Gleeful malice oozed from his cruel voice.

Daxter couldn't cry, couldn't scream, couldn't speak, could only weakly wring his hands around the demon's wrist in a pathetic effort to make him let go as darkness closed in on his mind.

And he did.

Daxter stumbled but remained on his feet as the demon suddenly released him, hands flying to his throat and mouth gaping open as he gasped for breath. And then the demon's lips were pressed hard on Daxter's own, the intoxicating stench of Eco slithering down his throat and into his stomach and veins. He screamed against his captor's mouth as his breath was sucked away by those lips that were as cold as bone, biting down, drawing blood that wasn't, choking on it as it gagged him, filled his mind, made him want it more and more. His mind screamed what he mouth could not, just a long, drawn-out wail of pain and disgust and hatred and want. Then the maw was gone, pulled back to utter the same declaration once again. "Mine."

Daxter screamed aloud as the slaw shot up and scored across his chest, leaving a trail of blood.

"Mine to have."

He stumbled backwards, fell, pleaded with Jak, eyes so fixed on the horror before him that he didn't see the figure lying in a shadowed niche. "P-please, Jak! Jak! _Jak_"

"Mine to play with." He advanced. Daxter scooted away, ran into a wall, looked around wildly for the escape route that wasn't there.

Daxter screamed again and again and again as pain flared all over his body.

"Toy… my toy…"

He begged, tried to fight and was overpowered, screamed Jak's name over and over until his voice cracked and died, and still Jak played with him.

No! It wasn't Jak, it wasn- but it was, oh Precursors, it _was_, this was him, and he wasn't waking up, and all he had wanted was to save Jak, to save Jak, but Jak was doing this and all he could see in front of him was his beloved Jak, smiling sweetly, blue eyes glittering happily in the way that he so loved, and then Jak was turning away, and Daxter _screamed_ out for him, and-

"Mine to kill."

The pain flared up one last time, and Daxter tried to reach out to Jak's retreating back, so beautiful.

And he died.

* * *

What… where was he? He shifted a bit and realized that his face was pressed into some sort of liquid. Funny, the smell was almost familiar… What _had_ he been doing? Desert… he remembered the desert. But it wasn't bright and burning where he was, nor was it the bitter cold of night. Confused, he shifted a bit, absently running a hand through the rapidly cooling fluid. He felt as though he were missing something important, and after a moment, he began looking inside of himself, finding instantly what was gone. Something fluttered in his chest.

Gone. _He_ was gone. There was just a hole, a huge, gaping hole where he had come to expect _him_ to be.

Gone!

An exhausted, almost bitter laugh bubbled up from his chest, erupting past his lips. How the hell had it happened? He couldn't remember. One minute _he_ had been there, the next, _he_ was gone. Nah, it was probably just another trick. But still…

Try as he might, he could find no trace of _him_ within him.

Relatively comfortable, Jak decided that he didn't want to move anywhere. He absently ran tongue across his lips, relaxed for the first time in Precursors knew how long, but stopped as some of the liquid exploded onto his taste buds, eyes flying open.

Moving suddenly seemed like a very, _very_ good idea as he instantly placed the flavor. He sprang to his feet, swamping dizziness sending him straight back down to his knees.

Blood.

And lots of it.

He gasped, blinked, slowly stood again, then looked around, trying to find the source of the blood in the dim room. He frowned, rubbing a crimson hand across his eyes. His vision seemed to have gotten quite a bit worse, that was odd…

He stopped and turned, still a little dizzy, as he caught a shock of flaming red hair out of the corner of his eye. He stared, his lips pursed in thought and his head all but tilted to the side as he tried to get his mind around what that hair meant. There was only one person he knew who had ever had that color hair…

"Daxter!" he cried, springing over to his friend, mind reeling. "What- how- when?" he gasped, eyes drifting over the immobile form. From what he could tell, Daxter was just the same as before, only a couple of years older, sleeping peacefully on the ground a bit too close to the Dark Eco pool for comfort. He was still thin and wiry with that same mess of bright hair. His clothes all but hung from him in tattered rags, but he was wearing some sort of dark color, something that Jak hadn't expected. "C'mon, Dax, wake up," he said. When no response came, he reached out and lightly touched his friend's face, fingers leaving a streak of glistening shadows in their wake.

Jak's eyes widened a bit as he felt the coldness of Daxter's body. He needed to be warmed… heat… sun! Jak carefully stood and gathered Daxter's light body in his arms, noting how stiff and cold he was. He smiled down reassuringly at Daxter's closed eyes, though he knew that the former ottsel was oblivious. "We'll get you warm soon enough, buddy," he said, glancing around to find the exit. There, a darker path in the darkness. He set off towards it and carefully made his way into the tunnel. He passed the water, stumbling a bit as he was submerged almost to his waist but recovered quickly enough. His arms tightened around Daxter's awkwardly splayed body.

The darkness settled in, utterly complete, and Jak couldn't even see Daxter's ashen face, much less anything else. Daxter's legs suddenly hit the wall and Jak stumbled again, dropping Daxter heavily to the ground. Jak dropped to his knees, feeling around desperately for his friend. There, he felt a leg or an arm. He kept patting his hands around, trying to figure out how Daxter was laying so he could pick him up properly. He felt Daxter's cold chest, kept feeling just in case…

…and his hand went _in_.

Jak froze, trembling. No, no, he was imagining things, there weren't holes in people's chests. He withdrew his hand, refusing to acknowledge the cold, sticky fluid dripping from his fingers, slowly lowered his hand back down. "No," he whispered, voice barely even reaching his own ears.

He struggled to his feet, picked Daxter up once again, began walking. He shook his head in denial. Nope, it wasn't true, he'd take Daxter outside and he would warm up and open his eyes and he'd see Daxter's toothy grin with those silly buckteeth of his, he'd see, he'd see-

He saw.

Light blossomed at the end of the tunnel, growing stronger and stronger as Jak stumbled on. He refused to stop, refused to look down at his friend who was lying so motionless within his arms. His foot caught on something just after he crossed the threshold out into the desert and he dropped Daxter a second time as he fell, winding up on top of his friend. He forced himself up, raised a shaking hand to Daxter's neck, feeling for the pulse he knew wasn't there.

"No, no, no," he whispered. It wasn't true, it wasn't. He lowered his lips to those of his friend, desperately forcing air into Daxter's lungs before pausing to watch for the rise and fall of his chest. Over and over again he did it, slamming his fists down onto the cold body as hard as he could, willing Daxter's heart to beat, willing his lungs to fill on their own.

Nothing.

He stopped and fell back into the burning sand, staring at the gaping hole in Daxter's chest without seeing it and yet seeing it all too clearly at the same time. He shut his eyes but the image would not leave his mind. _How?_

He knew how. Oh, Precursors, he _knew_ how.

A bitter laugh welled up in his chest, erupting past his lips, echoing across the barren sand. He caught a line of Metalheads advancing in the distance out of the corner of his eye but ignored them. There could be no tears, there could be no desperate screaming, no expressions of remorse, for this was so far beyond that. All he could do was laugh until he couldn't laugh any more, couldn't even breathe, and then could do nothing but laugh all the more.

It was just too perfect.

How had _he_ gotten Dax there in the first place? And how had _he_ gained such a stronghold over him that he would kill his own best friend without even knowing what he was doing? But after only a moment's thought, he dismissed the questions from his mind. Did it honestly matter how? No, not at all.

Not any more.

Nothing mattered any more.

He had killed Daxter.

_Daxter_.

He didn't want this any more. He didn't want to know where _he_ was, though he knew that he was around somewhere. He didn't want to breathe the air that Daxter could no longer. He didn't want to _live_.

Not with the guilt.

He opened his eyes and glanced around with a detached interest. Something was sticking up out of the sand, and he dimply realized that it was that he was tripped over. He crawled to it and picked it up, feeling something close to content as he held his gun within his crimson hands.

Guilt.

He flicked the switch on the side without a second thought and the gun twisted in his palms.

He had done it.

He stared down at the gun for a moment. Yes, this was right. It was good. It was the only right thing left in the world.

He had killed the only person in the world he loved with his own hands. He had probably liked it.

He pointed the gun.

His demon be damned. If he died, so would _he_. Wherever he was, let him fear, let him feel the wind of the wings of death as they advanced.

He pulled the trigger.

* * *

_He pouted a bit as the gun fired. He had wanted to take care of his host himself._

_Ah, well._

_He walked over and plucked the gun from limp hands, then bent down and immersed his face in the fresh blood and gore. Ah, so good…_

_He felt his kind coming, but they could wait until he had finished gorging himself. And after that…_

_He had a whole city to play with._


End file.
